#If some of the words sound like they don’t exist it’s because they straight up don’t. I’ve no idea what old me was thinking.

[desognthinking]

WIP... Wednesday

Tagged by @willowedhepatica  (thanks!) I'm so sorry that this comes so late 😭 life got in the way. Not sure who i can tag who has things in the works they can share, but please Please know if anyone has any snippets or sneak peaks I would love to see them and yell about them with you pleaseee

Not strictly a WIP but here’s just under 3.5k of an oldish experimental AU inspired by this post :’) in this one they’re… *checks notes*, ah, hmm. Chimerical tomb guardians carved from stone.   

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It’s a wickedly stormy day when a procession scores up the hill through beating rain and blowing dust, but there’s no time to waste. The wedding will not wait, and on its occasion, as a symbol of the new ties between the families of the bride and the groom, there is a terrible, beautiful new guardian grotesque to be received by the Silva tombhouse from the Salviuses. 

It is surely mounted on the property sometime during the silver-black onslaught of sky upon earth, but Beatrice cannot clearly see it through the rain and the  maze of trees that still separates the Silvas from their neighbors. The families on this hill are not quite rich enough to expand at the pace of the wealthiest among them, who slice and raze to add to their already broad campuses of tombs. Instead, in this part of town, modest, often unmatching clusters dwell amongst the wildflowers and long-lived trees sprayed across the land. 

Beatrice likes the nature. Her perch is kept cool by the damp and dewy mornings, birdsong flickering from above and around. In the filtered haze of heat and light there is some measure of peace too – here, there is less to fight over, and fewer lines of tension between the families. Hidden by farther slopes, there are fewer threats from beyond. And, overshadowed by the lower circuit of large gated tombhouses, there are far milder spoils for aspiring robbers. 

It’s from one of these large inner-city tombhouses that the new stone protector is said to arrive. The Salviuses have money spilling out their hands and down their wrists. It’s said, it’s said, it’s said – it’s whispered in the wind that carries the falling leaves from vine to vane, so easy for Beatrice to stretch up and put an ear to. The pollen clouds dispersed over grass in shapes spelling disruption  and newcomer. It’s gossiped over pages in the library, first with smug nods and just you wait and see, dear, we’re never wrong from the grandfathers and grandmothers as Beatrice pores through the volumes in the upper shelves, precious books pressed so high and so far back that they’re backed into both wall and ceiling. 

Then, inevitably, it carries through the air in the giggles and hushed gasps of the living members of this family, hands curling over yarn and needle as the youngest children breathlessly run and hide behind the walls and in the shadowy pockets of the tombhouse. The Great-great-great Grandmother who had been the first to break the news is mollified by the confirmation, and generously refuses to gloat.

A Silva girl is marrying a Salvius boy, and the Salviuses are pledging a guardian – the spirits know they have too many anyway, but still, a Salvius guardian – to this hill. 

“You’ve got to go over and see what’s going on,” Beatrice is instructed one morning, in no uncertain terms. They’re going over integration by partial fractions on the little platform at the back that looks down over the mills: her, Great-Grandfather, and Lilith, who’s slunk over yet again from the Villaumbrosias’ for some ‘peace and quiet’, and also because Beatrice’s family likes her for some mysterious reason. They pretend it’s because they need the extra pair – or, well, pairs, in Lilith’s case – of eyes. The massive, foreboding, Villaumbrosia affair the next hill over already boasts so many fearsome hands on deck, and they only have one Beatrice. 

Great-grandfather is gentle and teasing about it; Beatrice (and Lilith, although she will never admit it) is his favorite captive audience. 

Of course, it’s easy to treat her as one of their own on mornings like this — quiet summer days when she’s stripped of silica and scale, descended from her weatherworn perch. Devoid of the coarse matter of rock and metal twisted into hungry, flame-spitting fangs, and instead merely a soft-spoken spirit in a youthful skin. When the great grandfathers and mothers and their grandfathers and grandmothers look at her and see dark, almost-human eyes and loosely-bound hair in a bun above her shoulders.  

And when Beatrice walks Lilith out and across the rocky way that leads home, it’s easy for them to wave the two of them off. After all, Lilith is just a young woman with black waves she tucks carefully behind her ears and a handsome, slanting jaw that could almost pass as being real; as being pressed and molded with muscle and mandible and a fragile, mycelial network of vasculature and nerves. Not another delicate illusion that would slip and shatter at the first sign of danger, revealing in a flash the grotesque ugliness within.

There hasn’t been an attack in a while. When there hasn’t been an attack in a while Beatrice thinks the family tends to forget where exactly they hold court.

(Here, cradled close enough within these hills to walk back to where home once was. Children’s handprints on the threshold, coal scribbles on the floor. Walls still perfused with the fragrance and vapor of hot homemade stew.)

This is a graveyard. This is a necropolis, a city of the dead. It slithers amongst the roots of the living but does not make a home of it. In its palm lies the fragile in-between, the sickly sweet intersection where the living and the after-dead mingle like the meeting of two clouds. Within its grounds the family is wont to forget the ruthlessness that’s sometimes needed to keep it in balance.

Once they depart, Beatrice and Lilith’s guises fall away. Invisible to a still-beating heart, two terrible chimeras gouge skid-marks through the dirt to get to the Villaumbrosia citadel before its guests arrive at ten-thirty. Miraculously, only twice during the entire trip does Lilith half-heartedly threaten to snap Beatrice’s tail off. 

They make it there just in time. Beatrice watches as Lilith sweeps her way up the manicured moss columns and melds, in a quick thrash, with the magnificent dark-gray creature of stone that lunges out from the south turret. Frozen like this: mouth curled in a snarl and sharp wings flung out – in mockery, in bombast, in warning; Lilith at her most vindictive and most frightening, the elaborate Villaumbrosia insignia branded hot and painful down her side.

Beatrice knows it hurts, of course. Perhaps less so like this but certainly in the flesh, where it is always red and raw like the day it was carved down Lilith’s ribs in the workshop. Preserved unchanging in the meat as it is preserved forever in the rock. Lilith winces, when she thinks the others aren’t looking, but Beatrice knows. Camila might say something – probably does say something, but Beatrice doesn’t. She understands too well, and after all, what can they do?

After all, this is their work. This is life: whatever is asked of them. For Lilith today, it is to be a showpiece for guests at a bloated, overwrought tea ceremony. Broadly, it is watchman, and protector, and advocate. And at times like these, when there is a stir in the tangled ecosystem of bloodlines and their guardian-creatures, Beatrice is called upon to be an ambassador. 

So, the day after the storm, Beatrice leaves her perch to seek out the Silvas. She glides down from the still-slippery stone, and lands softly on the wet earth, scale meeting fur meeting soil and humid air. 

In her hands – her metaphorical hands – she clasps fistfuls of string that stretch, infinitely thin, to every corner of her tombhouse. She flexes each one and puts it between her teeth as she steps over the threshold and into the trees, testing their elasticity and tensile strength. If there is to be a twang, however minute, she must feel it. There is only one of her at home.

As she approaches the Silva tombhouse the air around her shifts and seems to solidify into a medium both probing and warning. Beatrice stills, allowing the woods to see her and course through her calmness. They know her, of course, and she waits for them to pass on the message to the newest guardian, still incredibly sensitive to the prickle of unfamiliar movement and sound. 

Presently, physically, the world exhales. 

Beatrice cautiously continues forward, until the treeline peels away to reveal the Silva tombhouse.

Tombhouse, as it goes, is a misnomer – a tombhouse is a complex rather than a single shell. It is no single cell for a coffin, but a collection of connected mausoleums and courtyards and passageways and corners and gates, lifted high and tunneled low. And as befitting a clan of esteemed craftsmen, the Silva tombhouse is a harmonious set spiraling outwards in organic whorls. Its walls are scraped clean and brushed beige, curled and leafed and folded in at the edges. Delicate and pretty in its strength in a way Beatrice’s own plain, stoic little set of residences could never be.

At the top of the central mausoleum, bounded by a parapet, rests a flat platform. On that ledge sits the new grotesque. 

Ink-black stone peeks curiously down at Beatrice. 

Immediately it is clear that she is like nothing Beatrice has ever seen before. Yes, as is tradition she is joined and jawed together piecemeal from various symbolic beasts, but this composition and style is unique. 

She’s simultaneously entirely unlike both the typical statues produced by-the-dozen in the workshops, and the specially commissioned sculptures like Beatrice herself. This guardian is a patchwork of shapes and textures Beatrice has only ever seen in the watercolor sketches of her tombhouse’s own library as belonging to exotic creatures from faraway places. Still other elements escape her recognition and description, and everything meshes deftly at smooth, near-invisible seams. 

Perhaps this isn’t surprising in a Salvius guardian – Jillian’s own commission too, it’s rumored. No less should be expected from someone the alchemists and scientists alike shy away from. Jillian Salvius considers herself a traveler, and a collector, and a dabbler, and Beatrice hears that the spokes of her gates are gnarled and carved in strange patterns from foreign lands.

The guardian shifts and cocks her head curiously, and Beatrice pulls herself together sharply.

“Hi,” the creature says. “You must be the neighbor from the east.”

Beatrice snaps back into polite, exceedingly proper posture. She nods, dipping forward in a movement resembling a bow. It makes the high-perched creature giggle, gauzy like air.

“Good morning,” she replies. “My name is Beatrice, and you’re right. How did you know?”

The guardian doesn’t answer. She separates from her stone in a miasma of color, swoops down noisily, and lands, a little clumsily, on a lower ledge. “Two heads, huh?” she says, thoughtfully. “Kinda perfect for the scholars.”

It’s not said judgmentally; more so with a further curious slant of her head, observational and light. Beatrice feels strange and semisolid all over.

She doesn’t correct the new guardian; tell her that no, she hadn’t actually been crafted or blessed for this bloodline, only gifted to them just one generation ago. And gifted rather carelessly, at that; an obligatory token presented upon the death of the benefactor’s tutor.

Before that her two heads were designed not as a tribute to wisdom or a paean to collaboration, but in order to stare proudly over an excessive estate, stretching out in opposite directions over land too vast for merely one head to behold. An arrogant symbol of not just physical, but political reach. She was a status symbol for powerful people – two-faced might be a better descriptor. 

Beatrice has always considered this with some bitterness, but today, she oddly feels no urge to self-flagellate. She feels, suspiciously, nothing at all; a fuzzy blank.

Instead, in response to the guardian, Beatrice blinks. Both of her heads do. They crane and incline together, like long-necked birds bending to convene. She feels sharp ears on each one twitch and flutter.

The creature laughs again. She descends further to the porch, then approaches Beatrice slowly. “I’m Ava,” she introduces herself, finally. Shyly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ava,” Beatrice repeats, careful and hushed. She parses it over and traces it as though threading a needle – how the strange, simple symmetry of the word, the hypnotic up-down-up of A-V-A,  doesn't begin to encompass the entity approaching her. On cue, Ava does a funny, shuddery motion that cascades down her whole form. 

Beatrice, leaning her heads over old tomes like water jugs tipped over a parched tongue, dreams of fantastical things, from places that often sound even more surreal. And yet before her now stands the most peculiar thing alive yet, that defies everything she’s known and seen. 

Yes, clearer now before her eyes, Ava is a patchwork of impossible parts. 

Up close Beatrice can see she’s also a riverbed of illusory things. Small divots seem to scoop themselves out, sink deep, and then ripple back up into the surface of her body. Bubbling, and collapsing, and reforming, like springs of molten mother-of-pearl. Each little cavity shimmers like roughened gemstones: a gasping, dark blue, like well water under the sun; or a moody green like the light-starved undershade in a storm; or a thawing amber that Beatrice cannot even describe except that it looks like the smell of hot bread with a sweet cream core, tempting and steaming.

“Beatrice,” Ava echoes, her eyes gleaming and dark. They bubble expressively and endlessly deep. Gazing at Beatrice, straight, still and pondering. Searching. 

Silence stretches until it doesn’t. 

Something snaps – a bird on a twig above –  and Ava shakes herself awake. “Where’s my manners!” she exclaims suddenly. “Come on,” she swishes around gamely. Beatrice, bewildered, sneezes. 

She’s learning quickly that when Ava laughs, the dense tassel-like feathers on the back rise in delighted reflex and splay apart. 

The two of them slip between trees into a little glade, buoyed by her relentless charm and a thrumming current of something else, in the undertow.

Once upon a time, this was a courtyard, although now that the Silva tombhouse has unfurled in the opposite direction it’s been allowed to tastefully overgrow into its former self, mossy and scruffy. Old pieces of wall and pillars still cordon off one side; Beatrice resists the temptation to bound about and explore, and instead parks herself primly at a corner, not fidgeting.

Ava has no such compunctions. She wriggles herself into a comfortable position on a large boulder. Her weapon of a tail dangles down and bats at the ground idly, uprooting chunks of grass. 

“How are you finding it here?” Beatrice asks, trying very hard to be normal. 

“Honestly? I don’t know yet,” Ava grins, “and you’re the first one of us I’ve met here.” 

She pauses, cocks her head to one side so strikingly. The gesture almost looks human. “You know, my new folks think very highly of you,” She looks appraisingly over Beatrice with an indecipherable expression.

Beatrice feels quite hot. “Mine are curious about you.”

There is a shift in the air as Ava straightens abruptly. Her tail stills. “What will you tell them?”

Beatrice bites her tongues, undecided. She’d meant to think of it later, to phrase and rephrase and turn the words over and over in her mouth on the way back to get them right. It takes a while, usually, to distill her thoughts precisely into words that balance both insinuation and tone, and half the time it ends up all too stilted and formal anyway. How people seem to be able to do that, off the cuff – it’s confusing. Far easier, Beatrice thinks, to sit quietly beside and let such people do the talking.

Especially now that this seems, somehow, to be important to Ava. And especially now that she finds she doesn’t quite have any of the words.

If Beatrice had hands she would wring them. She thinks, distantly, of what someone else wiser than her might say. “They’ll agree with me that you’re certainly unique,” she starts, and it’s like Shannon’s talking through her, stately and gentle. Bold, like Mary. 

She adds, in an abrupt impulse that’s, alarmingly, all Beatrice, “I do think you’ll fit in well here.”

“Oh,” Ava seems surprised. Her tail, heretofore curled tightly on the boulder, relaxes and turns a loose arc in the air, hacking at the grass. “Thanks,” she looks at Beatrice, and inhales sharply, although not unkindly. 

Pauses. Sheepishly, she adds, “I’ve heard some people, uh, calling me devilish and other things, you see. But you know, it’s fine. Whatever.”

Beatrice grimaces involuntarily, then schools her expression back into an empathetic nod. It’s not unexpected. There’s bound to be a procession of curious gawkers and onlookers filing through to try and catch a glimpse of something hailing from the elusive Salviuses. Beartice knows the type: traditional, gossipy and busybodies.

They’ll take one look up the roof and gasp in disbelief or disgust, probably. Sneer up at the twisted, unnatural proportions, if they’re brave. Ava runs too close to the precipice of their diluted tolerance.

“The Silvas are good people. They’ll stand by you.” Beatrice isn’t sure if it helps, but it’s true. The households here are the little silver lining of this part of town, otherwise ragged and out of the way and a little discordant in its hues.

Ava exhales gently. Beatrice thinks there’s a small smile there. “I know.”

“It doesn’t make it easier.”

“Yeah. I know,” repeats Ava, her eyes shining, and it’s almost like she really does. 

Beatrice understands. They did it to her, too, after all.

The people who commissioned her had made a puppet of her. They had demanded a departure from classical references and therefore affixed to her frame things like startling, swiveling joints and odd angles.  Two heads, of course, among other modifications – all in an arrogant, ambitious drive to defy tradition and create a visionary symbol of fear and envy.  Instead, the lay beholder glanced upon the warped anatomy and thought it blasphemy. And so, Beatrice rapidly became that to her own family too: acrid to the eyes, rotted in the soul, a disembowelment. Failure. An embarrassment. 

The whispers billowed large like cotton sheets drying in the fields, caught and blown out in the wind.

It was a matter of time. Beatrice imagines the tiny family offspring being taught their true oral history in a sugary sick little chant, clapping their chubby hands cheerfully and squealing every grim word, 

Then the old teacher died / and it was a great relief / The family rushed to ready / a token of public grief

Her, of course. Her, and not any of the cruder, more sedate, stone guardians that studded the estate. The small ones who, on a good day, sat patiently and circulated air and respired noisily, and who were not capable of thought or pain. The family had a lot of them lining their walls, not much more than large decorative lumps of dough programmed to trap, waylay, or bite at intruders. 

Instead, they parted ways with the looming, ghastly and elaborate figure that guarded one of their main wings, and painted it as a great outpouring of sadness. Beatrice knew better.

The whole event was swift; almost planned in advance. She’d barely had time to send an urgent warning to Lilith before she was gone – a failed experiment in pomposity that took an unforeseen and regrettable turn into the profane. 

In a matter of days she was transplanted from lush green gardens into dry hills bathed in reedy, half-obscured sunsets. The kind of neighborhood her old family would call avant-garde or ‘forward-thinking’, although with a scoff that betrayed what they really thought.

And at night, looking down to sleeping homes, Beatrice would hear in the nothingness the same whispers splashing down the stone like rain, all over again.

Mindlessly, now, she has the sudden urge to reach out and feel. Fluttering cells or hardened stone, it doesn’t matter. She wants to transmute a hand of tender human pulp and skin, and run fragile fingers softly over the strangest braided foldery and flattening of membrane, bumps and spindles until they catch, pierce and bleed. 

And she so badly wants to tell Ava: I think you’re nightmarish and very beautiful. You would hold an army off this humble hill. like holding out a pathetic little bundle of flowers– but she doesn’t. It’s too long and too much; I’m here. is too short, and both are too naked. She’s not that kind of creature. She’s carved from solid rock and even when she sheds it it still feels like its weight chains her to the earth.

Her voices remain even and steady, somehow. 

“I –This isn’t the customary welcome and introductory visit,” Beatrice confesses, in lieu of it all.

“Oh. It’s not?”

Beatrice shakes her heads. “There’ll need to be a more official one.” 

The overlapping layers of spines along Ava’s limbs rise and then flatten, quickly.  “So I’ll get to see you again soon?” 

Feeling warm, or moist, or something like a pillar of pressurized foam, Beatrice clears her throats. “I suppose so. Yes.”

[touchlikethesun]

my mom: so that l-… that long john guy, what’s his deal here?

me:

my mom:

me:

me: do you mean lan zhan?

my mom: yeah probably i don’t know how to pronounce it

me: what do you mean you don’t know how to pronounce it????? wei wuxian literally says it 20 times an episode how how do you not know????

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

imagine logan seeing you again

logan x reader

warning: some deadpool x wolverine spoilers. this takes place after the movie. under 1k words.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The apartment was packed jammed with friends and some foes of Wade Wilson. There might have been music playing in the background, but Logan couldn’t tell when his eyes locked with the figure walking through the front door. His heart dropped, he felt sick to his stomach as his eyes fluttered. It had to be a dream but then he quickly came to his senses.

This wasn’t his universe, his world. He was somewhere entirely new. He caught his breath as Wade shouted out an exclamation of joy. Logan watched as he drew up from his seat to greet you with an overzealous hug, pulling you toward the group at the table.  Wade held you rough by the shoulders and grinned. “Look who decided to come out of retirement, conveniently after we,” he pointed to Logan then himself. “Saved the fucking world. Avengers, who? Bunch of assholes, if you ask me.”

“You sound like a man scorn, Wade,” you teased, offering a wave of a hand to your friends. The idiot next to you was right, the whole superhero thing had been a thing of the past. You have been a regular civilian for a few years now and have been loving a more relaxed existence – not being threatened daily was like, nice. “Don’t worry, you’ll see all the details in the movie. Have you meant my little angry beaver, the Wolverine?”

Your head jerked to where the older gentlemen was sitting, and you grinned. “I haven’t had the pleasure. I never met this world’s Logan – we ran in different circles. It’s nice to meet you.”

His heart relaxed and he confidently held out a hand, ignoring the interested glance from Laura. “Nice to meet you.”

“Take a seat next to Logan,” Wade urged, winking over to his new hesitant partner. “I’m sure he can fill you in on all the fun we’ve had together. Tell her about the sex ramp we had in the car that one time.”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Logan cursed, telling you to ignore him.

“I usually do,” you laughed, thanking Vanessa for the beer she slid over from her side of the table. Popping it open, you relaxed and asked Logan how this place was treating him. “Must be weird, coming here. It’s like your world, right? Just slightly different?”

“Something like that.”

“Did we know each other back there?”

Your question seemed so invasive and frank – it almost made Logan smile because some people never changed, no matter what universe. Back where he came from, you were such a firecracker little shit. He had his hands full dealing with your bullshit. You were always running towards danger with little regard for your own safety because you had him. He had always been at your side, or at least, trying to catch up but he had always been there for you.

Logan had loved you and you had loved him.

Two reckless mutants.

Then you died and that sent him straight down a barrel of alcohol and indifference, to everyone and everything in his world. Which led to his greatest shame of all, allowing his family to be murdered because he was too busy drinking his sorrows away. He had long forgotten what it felt like to see you smile or hear you laugh, to feel your fingertips on his skin. The weight of your head on his chest as you slept, he never could replicate that feeling and yet, here you were.

A different version of you but God, the same.

“We were friends, really good friends.”

The hint of sadness in his voice was enough for you to understand and maybe not truly, but something had happened. That much was evident and while it might have been silly, you wanted nothing more than to comfort this man next to you. The room seemed to fall quiet, but no one was paying attention, except the girl next to Logan. Your eyes met hers, but she just smiled and looked away. Logan’s eyes were focused on the beer in his hands, but his eyes jerked up when a gentle hand touched the top of his. Your skin ablaze his and it felt wrong to feel like he had once when he didn’t even know you. Not this version of you, a woman he knew nothing about. It didn’t feel right but he wanted nothing more to allow this to go on. To see who you were in this world.

Did he deserve that? After everything that happened.

“Were? I won’t pry but it seems like life has given you a second chance, Logan.” You smiled softly and removed your hand from his, lifting your beer can to him. “You guys saved this world; a second chance is the least the universe can give you. Why not take it?”

Logan chuckled lowly. “The version of you I knew also had a deficiency in reasoning.”

A hard smack landed on his chest, and he laughed, which made you laugh. “Yeah, well, at least I don’t look like that idiot.”

Looking over to where you pointed to Wade, who had decided to show off his hair piece, Logan smirked. “Yeah, that’s fucking terrible.”

The two of you smiled at each other and something clicked in that moment, leaving the both of you quiet until you broke the tension. “To not looking like Wade Wilson.”

Logan clicked his beer against yours and felt a settling in his heart. Maybe he did deserve a second chance, at least, he could start toward earning that second chance. “Amen to that.”

[selfcarecap]

Cat & Dog [L.H.]

✧ Logan Howlett x kitty hybrid!reader

✧ summary: Logan rescues you, a kitty hybrid, on a mission and you become infatuated with him. (that’s all the plot you get, the rest is porn lol <3)

✧ warnings: smut 18+, unequal power dynamics bc Logan saves reader (and she’s a bit naive and inexperienced), kitty hybrid!reader (human with kitty ears, a tail, claws and kind of fangs and she purrs), reader’s first time, unprotected piv, oral sex, Logan teases reader a lot, slight daddy kink (like two mentions – still figuring out whether i like it for Logan), implied age gap, pet names (baby, bub, kid (not during sex), sweetheart, kitty — at first mockingly but then not), reader making biscuits on Logan w/ her claws lol, slight pain kink, Logan teaches reader about consent, uh i ignored that the reader’s probably gone through some trauma lool, Logan is indifferent to reader’s feelings for him at first but it changes, reader wears Logan’s hoodie; alternative summary that i thought was too cringe to use: Logan’s a nasty dog and you’re his pretty kitty. 

✧ word count: 5.2k

Logan Howlett is your saviour — the most handsome hero to ever exist.

He finds you on a mission, abandoned like the runt of the litter. The only reason he knows you’re still alive as he carefully approaches you, curled into a ball, is because his strengthened senses allow him to hear your dull heartbeat, and the matted tail at your lower back bristles when you hear him come closer.

“I’ll get you out of here, kid. You’re safe now,” he says, telling you his name and that he’s part of the X-Men. You turn slightly at the sound of one of his claws unsheathing, and watch him use it to pick the lock of the cage you’re being held in.

He opens the door and takes more steps backwards than necessary, “There you go.” 

You’d be able to dart straight past him and escape. You trust him. He smells different from the men that locked you in here, too. Sure, he smells a bit doggish, or like a wolf maybe, but he’s sweaty from fighting men to get to you so you’re not going to complain.

You slowly crawl through the cage door on all fours, feeling his eyes rake over your body. You don’t know why he’s staring – apart from your tail, and, sure, your ears, you have the body of a human – but you don’t mind it. You immediately feel warm in his presence. Everything is about to get better, all thanks to him.

He carries you in his arms when you’re too weak to even stand and you’ve never felt as peaceful and protected as when he holds you, and you cling to him with all the energy you have left. You can’t help but hiss when he puts you down in the seat next to him instead of in his lap to get you home.

-

It’s now been two weeks since you last saw Logan. He gave you his zip hoodie to keep you warm as soon as you got to the mansion and he didn’t leave your side until you were safely in the infirmary. You wish he never left.

They’re insisting on keeping you in here to heal, ignoring every time you ask for Logan. You feel healthy – they’ve even made your tail all pretty and fluffy again – so you take it upon yourself to find him.

You sneak out of the infirmary late at night, and all you have to do to find Logan is follow your senses.

Once you’ve located his room, you push the door open without any thought. He’s in bed but he’s still awake. The light on his nightstand casts a glow over the room and you smile when you finally see him again.

“What’re you doing here, kid?” he asks, sitting up slightly. He’s wearing nothing but his boxers, and you eye the muscles from his chest down to his abdomen, noticing the delicious layer of hair he has all over.

“Can’t sleep,” you take a step over the threshold, holding onto the door shyly.

Logan smiles, more to himself, “Was wondering when I’d see you again, bub.”

“Was waiting for you to come visit me,” you pout. You jut out your hip to one side, your tail curling upwards and peeking out behind your legs. You’re showing off. Last time he saw your tail, it was all tattered, but now it’s soft and bouncy again. You see Logan looking at it, smiling slightly, but he doesn’t compliment it like you hoped.

“We barely know each other. It’s nothing personal, kid. It was a standard mission. Anyone from our team could have got you first.” It stings that he doesn’t find your bond as special as you do, but you don’t mind if you have to do some convincing. He’s worth it.

“But we do know each other,” you close the door and make your way to his bed, “You saved me. I wouldn’t be alive without you. I just want to show you my appreciation.” You’re at the foot of his bed, crawling onto it on all fours. You’d never normally be this blunt but you can’t help yourself around him. Your need for him has taken over your entire being in the last two weeks. 

You watch him taking you in. Your movements are sensual and sleek – feline. You know he’s never been with someone like you, and you’re happy for him to take his time if he needs it. Perching on his bed, between his spread legs, you slowly unzip the hoodie of his that you’re still wearing.

His eyes follow the languid movement as you drag the zipper down, revealing your simple black top underneath. It clings to your skin in all the right places in the same way that your soft, tight, black shorts do.

“Looks good on you,” he nods towards the hoodie.

“Do you want me to keep it on?” You ask, but he shakes his head, smiling. 

“It’ll look better off.”

You unzip it fully, throwing it to the side of the bed. 

“Can I stay with you?” you lean over him. He’s about to open his mouth, and you have a feeling he’s going to tell you no.

“Please,” you cut him off.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he huffs, moving to give your ears a light scratch, “you can stay for a bit”. He’s intrigued enough to let you stay – you can hear it in his elevated heartbeat – and you don’t mind if curiosity is the only reason he’s keeping you with him for now. 

He paws at your fluffy ears, almost groping you, unsure how to treat you, but you haven’t been touched there in so long that it feels like heaven anyway.

“Who’s a good kitty?” he mocks as he gets the sweet spot behind your ear, but you don’t realise he’s teasing you, pushing your head further against his hand in bliss as you begin to purr. 

Logan isn’t sure how you’re making the noise, but it turns him on. He wants to hear more of it, “Well, don’t you sound pretty?” 

Your purring intensifies. You move down his body and settle over his legs, your head in his lap as his hand stays on your head. It’s then that Logan realises he’s already half-hard. The only reason he let you in was because he’s sexually intrigued by you, your cute demeanour and that fluffy tail somehow doing it for him. But he wasn’t planning on actually doing anything — not until now.

Your face is mere inches from his cock and he’s starting to ache to do something about it, getting harder. You’re still trying to find the most comfortable position as you rub your cheek across his lap like a little cat. You stop when you feel his erection.

“Are you hard?” you ask bluntly, eyes all wide. 

“I am, bub.”

“For me?” you purr quietly.

“All for you.” Logan tips his head to the side, waiting to see your reaction. He can tell that whatever you’re asking him next is taking you a bit more courage. He watches you gnaw on your lip all cutely.

“I’ve never seen a cock before…” you confess, and Logan stifles a laugh.

“Y’wanna?” He surprises himself when he says it. At first, he thought your affection was simply that of the saved towards her saviour, or familial maybe, but he’s not mad at this. 

Logan gets fully hard as you nod at him in such awe, your tail curling around his bare leg, and it’s even softer than it looks.

He pushes his boxers down just enough to pull out his cock, jerking himself off for just a few seconds to get some friction. You’re staring at it as you move your legs back, instinctively arching your back with your ass up. 

Your tail bobs behind you Logan can’t resist giving it a light tug, curling his finger around it. “Mmh,” you huff, pulling your tail away by instinct.

“Sorry, kitty,” he chuckles, “just wanted to feel it.” Your cheeks warm at his confession and you move your tail back in the direction of his hand so he can reach for it when he wants to. Your tail is your pride and you won’t let just anyone touch it – Logan’s the exception. He can gladly dominate you by tugging at your tail all day if he wants. 

He smiles as he touches your tail again, letting it glide through his fist from the bottom to the tip of your fur. “Such a pretty kitty,” he hums as he bites his lip. 

Hearing that he likes it pleases you more than you would’ve thought and you begin to purr again. You’re not exactly sure how to go down on a man, but you let your intuition guide you as you lower your face to press a wet kiss to the tip of Logan’s cock.

Suddenly, he’s pulling you back up by the scruff of your neck.

“Ah-ah. Manners, bub. You gotta ask first, you don’t know that?” Logan scolds.

His expression goes soft as you shake your head all sadly and apologetically, “‘S okay, kitty. I’ll teach you. Say please.”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

You look at him as you get back up on all fours, leaning close to his face. You want to kiss him so bad but you gather you’re not allowed to do that without asking either. 

“Please can I kiss you, daddy?” you ask.

Logan is surprised, not unpleasantly, at the word, “Where’d you get that from?” 

You shrug, and even that movement is fluid and smooth. “Just wanted to call you that. ‘S that okay?” You slur, head already clouded with pleasure and Logan.

He nods and places his hand back on your neck, pulling you towards him as your face reaches his in a searing kiss. He’s hungry for you, devouring you with his mouth and tongue and teeth immediately. His hand glides down your spine and to the side of your ass, grabbing you there. 

You purr against his lips as his other hand squeezes the flesh at your waist, and the vibration feels so good to him. You lower yourself against him so you’re chest to chest, and your belly rubs against his cock as some of his precum spills between you two, rubbing up against your skin and dripping onto his own abs.

Logan gently pulls you off, “Be a good girl and suck daddy’s dick now, alright?” You nod so adorably it makes his heart clench – you’re so eager to please him, all wide-eyed as you get between his legs, your ass up in the air.

On your way down, you give tiny licks to his skin; your tongue is all over his chest hair and his happy trail. Your tongue glides through his pubic hair, ignoring his throbbing cock, and you make your way to his thighs. He watches you lick through the dark hair there, and he realises what you’re doing. 

You’re acting like a cat, taking care of him. You’re bonding with him, and grooming him. He lets you do it some more, but it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore how hard he is, leaking precum. He slides a hand down to his dick, jerking off right next to your face.

“Mhh,” you pout, pushing his hand away with your head and giving him a cross look.

He smirks, “you gonna start sucking at some point then, baby?” It’s not that he doesn’t like you playing around but he’s getting desperate. He places a hand on your face to make you look at him.

“I don’t know how to.” Your cheeks are hot under his touch. 

Logan smiles, “Start with kisses. Or lick, like you’ve been doing.”

You nod and curl your tail around his knee, your hands to the sides of his hips. You press a wet kiss to the underside of his cock and Logan sighs in pleasure; you immediately want to hear more of it. You press quick kisses all over him, remembering what he said about using your tongue.

You begin to lick all over his dick, his balls too, until you’re drooling over him. But he’s stopped making pretty sounds and you’re not sure what you’re doing wrong. You hear a quiet chuckle from above you.

“Come up here,” Logan says. You sit up and straddle his waist. He takes your hand, bringing it to his mouth.

“Like this,” he tells you, taking one of your fingers between his lips. He wets it with his spit, sucking it into his mouth, tongue moving over your fingertip. You grin – you like the look of it. You like the way his cheeks hollow as he sucks on your finger, wishing your hands were as big as his.

As you move to push another finger past his lips, Logan takes your wrist. “Uh-uh. Your turn, kitty.” 

You pout but then feel his hard cock against your ass, your tail brushing it, and you get excited. 

“And none of those sharp teeth,” Logan tells you as you move down his body again. You bare your smile to him, letting your fangs retract. They’re a special part of you and you’re glad you could finally show them off to someone who deserves to see. Logan awards your little show with a grin. 

“Good girl.” Those words make you put your mouth on him immediately, swallowing him down your throat as deeply as you can. You pull away when you almost gag, heat spreading over your face, but Logan is unbothered.

You settle between his legs as you press a few more open-mouthed kisses to his cock with spit-slicked lips. You take the tip in your mouth, staying for a bit as you suck on it, spit dripping down his length and over your lips.

You start purring when you take him a little deeper, and Logan’s breath catches in his throat when you do, the vibration turning him on even more.

“Keep doing that,” he mumbles absent-mindedly, eyes on you but mind evidently gone. You smile around his cock, moving your mouth up and down as the spit begins to make a crude sound against your lips, but you like it. You’re feeling more and more of an urge to touch yourself between your legs, but you want to make Logan feel good first.

Your purring gets louder as you take him even deeper, and Logan lets out a sharp gasp. You pull your mouth off him, wondering if you’ve hurt him, sliding your tongue over your teeth to make sure the sharp fangs aren’t out.

Following Logan’s eyes, you see what you’ve done. Your claws have come out, and you’ve been scratching his thighs open. You feel tears prick your eyes as you bend down to lick over the wounds apologetically, wondering in awe as they heal up immediately.

“Don’t worry, just surprised me. You won’t hurt me.”

“Sorry, ‘s just how I show that I like you. Don’t wanna let you go”, you hang your head low in shame despite his words.

“It’s okay, kitty,” he lightly scratches at your ear, making you purr and forget all about hurting him, “Do your worst.”

You’re not sure if he’s teasing you. “Know they’re not as big as yours.”

Logan huffs, taking a hand away from you, pressing his elbow into the bed and his claws come shooting out. You only saw one of them briefly, when he saved you. They’re majestic up close and in all their glory, glinting against the low light. 

You reach out, “Pretty.” Logan smiles at your sparkling eyes, but retracts his claws before you can touch them.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby.”

You give him the meanest look you can muster for not letting you touch, sinking your own, much tinier, claws into his abs to hurt him. But Logan lets out a soft moan instead, and you marvel at the pleasure he takes in the pain, forgetting all about why you’re mad at him.

Your eyes light up when you realise he likes you scratching him open. It’s a dream come true – someone who likes the way you show affection. You bite your lip as you scratch over his abs, his hips, and his thighs, watching as the wounds close up just before you draw blood. You hook your tiny claws into the flesh of his thighs as you wrap your lips around his cock again.

Logan lets out a string of moans as you have your claws in him and your mouth on him. You begin to purr, and with the way his cock flexes in your mouth you know he’s close.

“Just a little more for me, can you do that, baby?” he gently nudges your head down some more, and with the praise coming from his lips you can definitely take him – you feel like you could do anything.

“Yeah, just like that.” Logan’s voice gets shaky as you take his cock deeper, spit running down to his balls as you take almost all of him in your warm, wet mouth. 

You swallow everything Logan gives you as he cums in your mouth, shooting strings of his warm load down your throat. You don’t stop until he’s gently pulling you off him, and you look up at him.

“Again,” you plead, eyes wide, taking in how his cock is still hard.

Logan chuckles, “Don’t get used to the idea of that. Most men can’t go more than once.” 

You look at him strangely – what do other men matter to you? Before you can ask, Logan manhandles you into a different position, and you don’t notice until then that you’ve been grinding your clothed pussy against his knee, and you whine at the loss of contact.

You’re on your knees as Logan gets up to fully remove his boxers, and you see the skin at his knee glistening from where you’ve soaked it. The sight makes your cheeks heat up but also makes you press your thighs together.

He’s standing in front of you like a god, and you put a hand on his thigh to suck his cock again. Before your mouth can reach him, he puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, “Your turn now, kitty.”

“Oh,” you say as he lies you on your back.

“Gonna play with you now. Can I take this off?” he’s holding the bottom of your top, and you nod as he pulls it off you. Logan gets on the bed again, taking in the sight of you half-naked. You’ve never felt so good about yourself. He looks as if he’s seen God herself.

“Look at you, kitty, so fucking pretty,” he whispers more to himself, touching and kissing you there as his knees sink into the mattress. You arch your back when he wraps his lips around your nipple, and the action makes your pussy rub up against him. He looks down between your thighs, pushing his mouth there.

You’re not wearing any underwear, so his face against your thin shorts makes you squirm. “Smell so good,” he breathes, rubbing his nose up against your clit. It makes you moan.

He begins to pull down your pants, stopping as they catch on your tail. The nurses cut a hole into the back of the material for it, and your cheeks glow when Logan carefully pulls your sensitive tail out of the way before he slides your shorts all the way down your legs, spreading them to get a look of you afterwards.

“Look at you, kitty. Prettiest kitty I’ve ever seen,” you miss his joke, placing your feet on Logan’s broad shoulders, as he says “Can I?”

You’re appalled that he even has to ask, pushing his head down between your legs. 

He begins to eat you like a man starved, moaning against your skin at the taste of your wet pussy. He doesn’t even tease you, licking through all your wetness, licking over your clit in circles.

Logan pushes two fingers in without any preparation, but you still feel too empty, grinding your hips against him. 

“I got you,” he promises, lapping up all of you, “Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” He grabs one of your thighs, holding it so that you don’t squeeze his ears any more. Your knees are still pressing against his temples, but he doesn’t mind them there. He can feel you tremble when he licks and sucks and when he curls his fingers.

Logan has you cumming on his tongue quickly, sucking on your clit until you’re seeing stars, whining for him to stop. He pulls his lips off you, sitting up to push his fingers into your mouth.

“You taste good, huh?” he smirks as you suck your own arousal off him, humming around his fingers in agreement. He slowly fucks his fingers into you again, bringing them up to his own lips. He moves his hand between your legs again, fingers going over the hair above your pussy.

“You’re so soft here, kitty,” he says, leaning down to nuzzle his cheek against your pubic hair, making you giggle.

You’re still wet, and he’s still hard, and you don’t want to be too direct but you want to know when he’s finally going to fuck you. You tell him “I’ve never done this before either,” hoping he’ll catch what you’re getting at.

He places a kiss above your pussy, into the soft hair, smirking up at you and kneeling between your spread thighs, “I know. I’ll go slow.”

“Don’t want you to go slow,” you mumble, watching his eyes darken a bit.

“Don’t say that to me. Y’don’t know what you’re saying.” 

You don’t reply, smiling to yourself. He is big – very big – you remind yourself, but you still want him to be rough with you if that’s what he needs. You want him to use you. But maybe you should wait before you tell him that.

Logan wraps a hand around his cock, fucking his fist for a few moments before he leans down to rub the tip against your clit. You mewl at the sensation, ready for more.

“You sure?” he asks, head already beginning to push in.

“Yeah,” you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him close. Logan pushes himself halfway in, both of you moaning with pleasure. The stretch already stings, but you tell him you want more.

“So fucking tight for me, baby,” he grunts as he fucks into you deeper, bottoming out with an almost pathetic groan that makes you smile through the slight pain.

“You’re so big,” you moan, leaning your head back against his pillow.

“I know. Think you can take me?” he kisses up the side of your neck, hand sneaking between your bodies to play with your clit.

“Yes–yeah. I want you.”

“That’s a good kitty,” he whispers from above you, beginning to thrust into you slowly, rocking your whole body with his movement. He feels so big in your pussy, but you like the feeling of being stretched out for him. Even if it hurts, you want him to take what he needs.

It helps when your claws come out, scratching at his back to relieve some of the pain.

“Hurt me, baby. Hurt me as much as you need,” he moans into your ear, fucking into you at a bit of a rougher pace. You sink your claws into him, feeling how you draw tiny drops of blood from his big muscles, dragging your fingertips down his shoulders and over his big arms.

“That’s it, baby,” Logan moans against your mouth, kissing you sloppily, thrusts becoming messy, and you grunt in a mix of pain and pleasure that feels so good. He looks down at you, hips getting slower as he takes your tail in his hand.

“Does your tail hurt like this?” he asks, tugging at it lightly. You’re lying on your tail, technically, but it doesn’t hurt. You shake your head. Still, Logan tips your hips to the side a bit, lifting your thigh to fuck you sideways. But this way you can’t reach his back, and you don’t like not being able to squeeze around him with your thighs.

“Wanna sit on top,” you say, and he pulls away to look at you, unable to stop himself from smiling.

“You can’t take me like that yet, bub. Trust me.”

“M-mh,” you mumble, and with a bite to his lip Logan lifts his hands in defeat, slipping out of you and obeying you. He flips you around so that he’s on his back and you straddle him.

His dick looks bigger when you hold it in your hand, raising yourself to your knees to line him up with your pussy. Logan chuckles and you smile too, but you want to show him that you can take him.

You struggle to even get the angle right because you have to sit up so high, but when you’ve got the tip in your pussy, you just slowly lower yourself, hands leaning on Logan’s chest.

“Go slow, baby,” Logan says, suddenly gentle, seeing the pain on your features as he goes deeper. His fingers draw circles on your hips and on your ass, and he almost cums from the way you moan when he won’t fit in all the way in this position. He reaches out to rub at your fluffy ears, loving the way you lean into his touch, purring again.

“Sounds so pretty when you do that.” He’s less and less sure about the thing he said earlier, telling you not to get used to him, about you fucking other men. He’s not sure it’ll be relevant after all. He’s going to keep you all to himself.

“Hurts so bad,” you moan, pussy straining around him.

“Then stop. Y’don’t have to,” Logan coos, pulling you up by your hips but you take his hands off you.

“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna cum.” You grind your hips against Logan’s, his cock pulsing inside you. It drives him fucking crazy seeing you struggling to take him, fucking yourself stupid in his lap nevertheless.

He rubs his thumb over your clit, in circles to match the movement of your hips on him.

“Lo–Logan,” you moan, hands back on his chest as you start to fuck him again, your claws coming out against his chest to scratch him there, and he revels in it.

“Yeah, that’s it, kitty. Don’t stop,” he keeps playing with your clit, starting to become breathless himself as your pussy squeezes around his cock.

You cum with a whimper so animalistic it sets off his own orgasm, pulsing his cum into your pussy that clenches around him hard. Logan’s hand on your hip helps you grind on him as the pleasure spreads through your body and he’s grabbing at your flesh.

You come down from your highs together, a fucked out smile on your lips as you bend down to kiss Logan. He pulls you off his cock, not wanting you to hurt any more, but from the way you kiss him back lazily, hurt is the last thing you are.

“Did such a good job for me,” Logan tells you, holding onto your face, “Didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, “Didn’t mind it,” and you kiss him again, liking the way he devours you like a hungry animal every time his lips are on you.

As he’s kissing you fervently, with tongue and spit, you let your fangs come out, nicking his bottom lip carefully. He hisses into your mouth, and you draw two drops of blood – one for each tooth – before the wounds heal shut.

Logan grins, “Feisty kitty,” he squeezes you at the waist, making you giggle.

“See, you like pain and I like it too.”

Logan hums at your words, hand moving up to play with one of your ears. You move to lie down on your side, Logan turning to face you. You watch him.

“Can I stay?” you ask shyly, quietly, and he doesn’t understand the man he was only an hour ago. How could he not want you entirely? He hates that he made you feel unsure for even a second.

“Of course, bub. You’re staying with me from now on.” You purr at his words, cuddling into him. 

He puts his arm around you, holding you close as you begin to lick all over his face. He giggles as you make your way over his beard and his neck too, grooming him like a kitty. Your claws hook into the muscle of his arm and, as much as he enjoyed it during sex, this is definitely something he still has to get used to, gasping at the contact. The way you purr louder makes it more than worth it.

You’re pawing at his hair, smoothing it back into place from where you’ve messed it up. Logan closes his eyes from how good it feels. Suddenly, he hears you giggle.

“Your hair is kind of like kitty ears,” you grin.

He deadpans. “Don’t ever say that again.”

Your fluffy tail bounces up and sways a bit as you giggle mischievously. You pretend to zip your mouth shut but he knows he’s never hearing the end of that. Maybe he doesn’t even mind it coming from you.

“So, did you escape just to come see me or d’you get permission?” He asks, remembering how you’re probably not even supposed to be here. 

You panic for a second, beginning to sit up, but Logan holds you down, “I won’t tell anyone you’re here, kitty. Told you you’re staying with me. Would just be good to know if you’re making me break the rules.”

The way you smile at him sheepishly tells him everything he needs to know. He presses another kiss to your adorable face.

“You coulda told them you’re leaving. I’m sure they’ll be looking for you, bub,” he tells you. You turn around so that you’re spooning, with him at your back and your tail wrapped around his thigh.

“Hmpfh, don’t care,” you begin to purr, closing your eyes, “Just wanna be with my daddy.”

Logan wants the same. 

You don’t stop purring as you drift off to sleep, held safely in Logan’s arms.

-

P.S. Logan thinks that hot readers leave a reblog and a comment and let the writer know what they enjoyed about the fic <333 🫣���

[xxblairexxss]

Cookies!

Pairing : dad!Jude Bellingham x reader

Them : Angst, I think.

Word count : 2k

Jude had a bad day and it seemed like a cookie wasn’t enough to cheer him up.

I haven’t written in soooo long. Apologize for any mistakes. Might delete this one. I don’t know. Sorry! Should start writing more. 😔

Jude and you were highschool sweethearts. Back when eveyone thought you guys wouldn’t make it because kids in love? Yeah, who would have thought you guys could pull through.

But you did.

There were ups and downs especially at the beginning of his career. Those multiple rumors and gossips came flooding all at once and you went from a normal girl to someone who was known to have a famous boyfriend. They ven called you “the girl who hit the jackpot”.

Some even called you lucky.

A few months after your marriage, Jude and you were blessed with a little girl named Aaralyn. Jude was a perfect father figure to her though to be honest, her arrival wasn’t really align with the immense growth of his career but he managed to balance it all out.

But there were still ups and downs.

The small little hand was flipping through pages of pages from your baking cookbooks whilst her other hand kept on tapping on her chin. Her soft little hums filled through the air.

“Have you make up your mind, honey?” You asked whilst rummaging through the cupboards to take out every baking tools needed.

Jude had been feeling under the weather these days. He tried to hide it from you as he always did but you always catch on it. You knew him very well.

And so did Aaralyn.

Apparently, your little girl was fully aware of it too. Aaralyn woke up this morning and came up with an idea to bake cookies for Jude because it was her favourite and based on her logic, whatever foods that made her happy, should made others happy just as much.

“Mommy, we… bake choco cookies!”

You let out a cackle. “You flipped through the whole book just to decide with a basic one?”

“It’s Alyn’s favourite!” Her small little hands started patting on her chest with a proud expression written all over the face.

“Of course, baby. Can you let mommy see the ingredients, please?” You were about to pull the book closer to your side but your duaghter was quicker.

She snatched the book back with her lips jutting out. “Alyn can read!”

“Okay, read it out loud while mommy gather all of the ingredients, yeah?”

“This one says..powder!” Her little finger pointed to the first ingredient on the list.

“What kind of powder?”

“Co— cocoa powder, mommy! This one..” The little finger then slid to the second ingredient.

••

Your little girl’s eyes widen when the sound of a car came from the garage. There was no other car that could have parked in the garage except for your husband’s.

“Daddy is here! Mommy, daddy’s here! We need to be faster!” She made a hop sound as her dangling little feet touched the ground and scrambled to get her princess plate from the cupboard.

“Use Alyn’s plate!” She lifted her pink coloured plate up high for you to place one of the baked goods.

The sound of the door slammed put your little conversation with Aaralyn to an end. There were no words exchanged as both of you stared at Jude. He threw his bag on the couch, the things inside hit with some of your daughter’s toys.

“Alyn, I told you to clean up your toys, didn’t I?” The tense in Jude’s voice was enough to make his mood known to the rest of the family members.

“Uh-oh, mommy wait!” Your daughter tiptoed to place her plate back on the kitchen counter before scrambling to the living room.

You were looking from afar as she straighten her arm to grab on her little toy whilst Jude was ignoring her existence, eyes solely on his phone.

“Daddy, can help me? Please?” Aaralyn mumbled a little as she patted on her dad’s laps.

“You should clean up your own mess. We talked about this yet you still refuse to learn.” He stood up, picked up the bag which he threw earlier and headed straight to the bedroom, leaving your little girl alone.

You saw she brought her little hands close to her chest, lips pouting as she stood there, completely baffled with what just happened.

“Baby, it’s alright. Mommy will help you.” You picked up your daughter’s toy box and brought it closer to the couch, Aaralyn then made a little noise as she jumped on the couch to gather all of the toys left.

“Daddy might be feeling a little sad today. I’m sorry about what happened, sweetheart.” You cupped on her chubby cheeks to give them a little kiss.

“It’s awright! Daddy will be happy after my cookie!” She squealed.

Your brows lifted, smile widen as she mentioned the main point of the day. “You are right! I forgot about the cookies. Should we bring it to daddy?”

“It’s okay! Alyn will do it.”

You trailed behind as she ran back to the kitchen, boths arms high up in the air to get her plate back.

“Be careful!” As soon as you handed her plate back, she already made her way to the room where Jude went.

“Alyn will come back after I make daddy happy!” Her voice sounded afar as she ran to the hallway.

Aaralyn’s pace stopped in a sudden as she nearly hit the closed door. There came a new problem as she couldn’t knock on the door whilst holding the plate.

“Uh-oh..” The soft little mumble slipped out from her mouth.

“Daddy? It’s me!” The back of her hand hesitantly knocked on the door as she took a step back, waiting for a response.

Jude heaved a sigh, arm propped up to cover his eyes. He wished a second for himself and he got was continous knocking sound greeting his ears.

“Daddy…?”

“Daddy!” She crouched down to carefully put the plate on the floor before bringing both of her fists thumping against the door.

“It’s me, Alyn!”

“What do you want from me?!” The inside of the door banged agaist the wall of the bedroom as Jude opened the door. There was nothing but tense in his voice.

Jude saw his little girl struggling to stand up straight with the plate of cookies right as he brought his gaze on her.

Startled by the sudden loud noise, some of the cookies in the plate fell onto the floor. Most of the perfect sized cookie now turned into little bits and pieces.

“Alyn just— just wanna give daddy a cookie…” Your little girl immediately cut the vexed gaze from Jude, her head hung low and she bit on the inside of her cheeks.

“You are making me suffocated. I need a fucking break and I can’t even do that in my house?!”

“Sorry daddy…” Her words turned into a mumble, lips started trembling.

Jude heaved a sigh when he spotted the cookie crumbles now all scattered on the floor. “Great, another mess. Clean it, Alyn. Now!”

Hearing the voice of your husband gradually got louder and louder, you immediately flipped the main valve. You barely had any time to wipe your hands as you scurried to the bedroom where you saw your little girl crouching on the floor, her little chubby hands quivered as she picked up the mess she did.

“Jude! What was that for?!” Fuming, you pushed him by his chest, tears welled up in your eyes.

“I just need a rest, Y/N,” He rolled his eyes with no hint of guilty.

“You could have just said so instead of cursing to my daughter. She did nothing wrong!”

“She should have just left me alone. No one gives a fuck about a fucking cookie right now! I couldn’t play for 2 months and you didn’t even ask me if I’m doing fine!” Jude responded back, not giving any sign to back down nor to tune down his voice.

“I know you aren’t doing fine. Alyn knows it as well. In fact, she knows it better than me. She planned all this. She planned a movie night, we waited for you to come home only to find out you spent a night at Vini’s without telling us beforehand. Alyn wanted to cook your favourite food. We did and you weren’t able to come home again. She then decided to bake her favourite cookies, thinking it could cheer you up only for you to shout at her face. Is it her fault that you have to rest for two months? That you had to lash it all out on her? Do it to me! Scream in my face, Jude! Do it.” Jude didn’t flinched when your fist repeatedly hit on his chest.

“This isn’t about you, Y/N.” He breathed out.

“So, is it about your daughter? Is that why you lashed out on her?”

Instead of saying anything else, he heaved a sigh and made his way to the bathroom.

You went back to where your little girl was sitting. The tears stain were immediately gone as you quickly wiped of your cheeks before crouching in front of her.

“Come, baby,”

Your little girl pulled her hand back from you and went back to picking up the crimbles. “Daddy— daddy asked Alyn to clean up this mess first or daddy will be mad again…”

Your heart broke when she kept her head low. Aaralyn always loved to make eye contacts, she had always been the mood maker in the house.

“Mommy will clean up the mess. Can you go back to your room, please, baby?”

“Daddy won’t be mad..?” She lifted her eyes and you were greeted a pair of puffy eyes, her cheeks were more round as she jushed her lips forward. She looked exactly like Jude and it broke the dam of your tears.

“Daddy won’t be mad at you anymore. Go back to your room? Mommy will see you once I clean this all up, alright?”

**

Jude clearly forgot what happened after. He was literally losing the grasp on time as soon as he woke up from his nap. The blanket was pushed aside as he grabbed on his phone. The brightness made him squint his eyes. The picture of you and your little girl greeted his sight.

3:02

Even in the dark, without him having to turn his head aside, he could still feel the bareness. He wasn’t sure what it was yet. Not until he tapped on the other side of the bed.

It was empty. Untouched even.

“Honey?”

His heartbeat gradually turned even faster as every call was left unanswered. You were a light sleeper. Even a slight noise could have woken you up. Soon as he left the master bedroom, his feet bought him to your little girl’s room. The light was left on but there wasn’t any sight of his baby girl too.

“Aaralyn. Honey?”

Jude went uneasy. His skin turned sticky as he broke intol cold sweats. Part of him wished all of this was just a dream. Before he reached the main door, he caught a glimpse of a pink coloured plate on the dining table with some sort of yellow coloured paper by its side along with a box of crayon pencils.

“Daddy’s

�� Aarlyn ❤️”

••

You could have brush it off if it was only between you and him but not to your little girl. Aaralyn was clearly upset. Even when you packed her stuffs, she remained seated at the dining table, staring at her remaining cookie.

As you rearranged her folded clothes into the luggage, she came back into her room, looking determined as if she had to get something done. You let her be as she ran back outside as she took out her crayon set with a piece of paper from her notebook.

Unknown to you, she actually wanted to leavr a little message to her very first love.

“There! For daddy!” She mumbled, the crayon in her hand was slipped back into the rest of the set as she left the paper right beside her plate. Her little hand then rearrange the cookie right in the middle. Not before she took a small bite at the corner of it.

“Daddy will like it…” She murmured with a small smile on her face.

“Come, baby. We gotta go.” You called out to your little girl, voice half whispering not to wake Jude up. After all those things that he did, you dtill couldn’t believe he had the audacity to just call it a night.

“Okay, mommy!” Aaralyn hopped off the chair and ran to you as you crouched down to put on her shoes. As she remain still with her little leg on your lap, she sticked her index finger in her mouth, eyes locked at the dining table area.

“What are you looking at, sweetheart?”

“Alyn forgot to keep my crayon…” She answered.

“That’s alright. Just leave it be.” You picked up your luggage bag, your free hand locked on your little girl’s wrist.

“Mommy, where are we going? Aaralyn asked.

“Daddy needed some time alone so it’s just gonna be you and me.”

[sky-is-the-limit]

How Task Force 141 would react in a real argument with their partner (they're in the right):

Captain Price:

The way Price gets mad at you is calm, serious, and controlled. If you are looking for a shout match, you're not gonna get it with him. He doesn’t believe in yelling or making a scene, he's too old for that.

Instead, when things get heated, he quietly tells you that he’s going to step out, giving you both time to cool down and think. Usually, he heads to the pub nearby, has a drink (or two) and lets the anger settle before coming back to talk things out. It’s his way of making sure neither of you says something you’ll regret even if it means leaving you to deal in your own frustration for a while. It doesn't last long though.

❁❁❁❁

"This isn’t helping, love." Price says, tone steady despite the obvious tension. "I’m stepping out for a bit." He grabs his jacket and you can see the disappointment in his eyes. "I’ll be at the pub, just need some time to think. You should do the same." He pauses at the door, looking back at you with a flash of concern and frustration in his eyes. "We’ll talk when I get back, yeah?" The door closes behind him, leaving you in the quiet of the room.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

When Kyle gets mad, the laid-back, chill guy you know disappears. He becomes sarcastic and cynical, his words sharp and his patience terribly thin. He might roll his eyes or make you feel like your emotions are over the top, dismissing them with what he thinks is logic (according to him, of course). It’s not that he doesn’t care or he wants to upset you on purpose but when he feels like you’re not getting his point, his frustration turns into biting remarks that cut deep.

❁❁❁❁

"Oh, that’s rich-" Kyle says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because clearly, I’m the one who’s being unreasonable here, right?" He crosses his arms, shaking his head in disbelief. "If you actually listened to what I’m saying, you’d see how ridiculous this all sounds." His words hit you hard and the sting of them makes you want to shout back, even to break something but he’s already turned away, muttering under his breath before heading into a different room.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish:

When Johnny is really mad, he goes completely silent. Your cheerful, talkative boyfriend just shuts down. He won’t talk, won’t argue. He just ignores you, burying himself in video games or working out until he’s too tired to keep his eyes open. He thinks it’s better to stay quiet than risk saying something he can’t take back but the silence is worse than any argument and in his ignorance, he makes you feel like you don’t even exist.

❁❁❁❁

"Johnny, can we please talk?" You ask, watching him pick up the game controller. He doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the screen. The silence is deafening, each minute that passes only making the knot in your chest tighter. "Johnny…" Still nothing. Hours pass like this and when he finally puts down the controller, he heads straight to bed. "I’m knackered." He mutters, not even looking at you. "We’ll talk tomorrow." But you know that tomorrow might just be the same unless you can find it in you to apologise first and make up before bed.

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

When Simon gets mad, he goes back into the defensive man with trust issues you first met. He never raises his voice nor lets the argument last long. Instead, he becomes cold and distant and his usual quietness turns into a wall that you can't break through. He’ll say things that remind you of past mistakes, making you feel guilty whether you're in the right or wrong. His bitterness makes it hard to reach him and it feels like no matter what you say, he won’t budge. Stubborn bastard.

❁❁❁❁

"You think I can just forget what you said?" Simon is monotonic but there’s a harshness underneath his tone that makes you wince. "Words like that… they stick. You can’t just take them back." His eyes are cold, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he looks at you without a hint of his usual softness. "Maybe you should calm down before this gets any worse." He doesn’t move or change his expression, just stares at you blankly, making you feel shut out.

[bookyeom]

to care for you — lc

pairing: dino x reader word count: 4.4k warnings: mention of blood and injuries, mention of fainting, swearing, hurt and comfort, kissing request prompt: Okay so tumblr ate my ask 😭 but this is in response to @darkypooo’s request for Dino + “do you want to kiss?” “Yeah.”

Author’s Note: Yes, this is a Spiderman AU — but you don’t need to know much other than the bare minimum about the Spiderman universe to understand the story :) It’s set in college instead of high school, though. I’m actually so, so proud of this one, and I hope you like it!

Thanks so much for all the support on my 700 follower celebration. You guys rock! I’m doing my best to get through the requests, but there were way more than I anticipated so bear with me!

He‘s exhausted. 

It’s an exhaustion that’s begun to seep deep into his bones lately, but it feels extra heavy tonight. After a not-so-brief brush-up with some bad guys, he’s hurting in places that he didn’t know existed — even after all of his years spent studying science. He can’t remember the last time he got this hurt — to the point where even breathing is hard. All he wants to do right now is give up. He’s not sure what good he’s doing out there, anyway.

He’s exhausted, and he’s hurting all over, and honestly? All he wants to do is see you. 

He feels like that a lot these days.

He knows he’s not supposed to want you like he does, to need you like he does — for so many reasons. First and foremost, because you’re one of his closest friends — his confidante (in everything not Spiderman related, anyway), his safe place. You’re his friend, and friends aren’t supposed to love each other the way he loves you. Besides, he’s Spiderman. He’s not supposed to need anyone at all. In this line of business, feelings are a weakness.

You, thankfully, have no clue about his alter ego… or his feelings.

Well, at least you didn’t know about the superhero part. Until now, when he drags himself into his room and you’re there, curled up in his bed. He thinks he must be hallucinating. He’s too out of it to really register it at first, but then your eyes meet his from where you’re sitting up against his headboard, duvet pulled up to your chin, and he’s frozen. You blink back at him in the dim light of his room, your face lit up solely by the lamp on his bedside table.

“Chan?”

Your voice is small — so quiet that he thinks without his heightened senses he wouldn’t have been able to hear it. He can’t think straight enough to really process that his mask is off — he must have dropped it somewhere between the living room and here. All he can register before he’s stumbled back and slumped into his desk chair, eyes screwed shut from all the pain, is that you don’t look nearly as scared as he thought you would. Then everything goes black.

There’s a warm pressure against his jaw and his cheeks. 

He slowly comes to as he registers the feeling, struggling to open his eyes and find the source of the sensation. He can hear a faint voice call his name, once, twice, and when his eyes finally manage to flutter open just a little, he’s met with your concerned gaze.

“Fuck. Hi,” you mumble, and he blinks. The pure worry in your voice helps to bring him back to earth a little bit more, and he tries desperately to clear his head. How long was he out?

“Why…” He tries to speak but fails, his voice weak and his throat hoarse. 

Why are you here? 

He sees you wince when he tries to move, to shift into a more comfortable position even though he knows nothing will be comfortable right now, and your head is suddenly shaking back and forth so fast that it almost gives him whiplash.

“Don’t move,” you tell him, and he dazedly wonders why you don’t sound mad. Or frustrated. Or anything but concerned, really. He’s confused, his mind swirling even more as he tries to understand why your hands are holding his face like that. Hadn’t he kept things a secret from you for far too long to warrant your concern? Don’t you hate him now?

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you say, and Chan fights the urge to try and speak again, to blurt out everything that he’s wanted to tell you since he met you. Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you hastily continue, “but you have to tell me how to help you, Chan.”

His eyes flutter shut once more at the sound of his name coming from your lips, and he feels your thumb brush against his jaw. 

“Chan,” you say again, and you sound more panicked this time, so he does his best to calm you down. 

“Off.”

You blink at him again as he finally speaks. You’re not sure what he means, and you’re desperate to know, because you can’t look at him in pain like this any longer without doing something to help.

“Off,” he repeats hoarsely, and your eyes widen as you hastily remove your hands from his face.

“Shit, sorry!” Your eyes frantically wander across his face, searching for any damage your fingers might have caused. “I don’t know where you’re hurting, I didn’t mean to—“

As you babble on, all he can do is shake his head minutely. That’s not what he meant. The last thing he wanted right now was for you to take your hands off of him. He manages to lift a hand to press gently against his side, where a dark stain has formed. He glances down at where the material is clinging to his skin before looking back up at you. 

“Oh!” You reply, realization dawning on your face. You try to hide the flush of your cheeks. “Can you stand up to move to the bed so I can help? If not, I can—“

Already, he’s attempting to move, desperate to make any of this easier for you. He wants to apologize, to say he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know exactly what for. For not telling you? For you having to see him like this? 

You help him stand, his arm reaching to rest on your shoulders as you do. You can tell he’s trying not to hurt you with his weight, and you almost laugh — how very Chan of him. You’re grateful that in the shock of survival mode, you’ve managed to avoid for now the way you know your heart is going to break when you register seeing soft, kind, selfless Chan beaten down like this. 

Cry tomorrow, is the message your brain is sending. Figure it out tomorrow. Right now, you need to help him.

“I’m strong,” you try to joke, though it’s a weak attempt, and Chan looks at you in confusion. “You can put your weight on me,” you elaborate quietly. He understands and gives you a sheepish smile, before doing as told, though you know he doesn’t want to. 

The two of you maneuver the few steps to the edge of his bed. Chan hisses involuntarily at the pain as he sits down, and you whisper soft apologies, though he has no idea why. Once he’s down, you immediately get to work, reaching behind him to find the zipper at the top of his suit. You manage to get it down as smoothly as possible, your eyes falling to where Chan is still clutching at his side.

“This part is going to hurt like a bitch,” you tell him softly.

“That’s okay,” he says. “It always does.”

You freeze for a moment from where you were about to begin to slide the suit off of his shoulders, but Chan doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said. You feel a sharp pain in your chest as his words replay, and you blink back tears, taking a moment to steel yourself. 

It always hurts.

You don’t respond, your fingers beginning to move again, and you’re surprised that they’re not shaking. Chan shivers when your fingers brush against his skin as you begin to slide the suit over his arms and off. You ease him out of the material on his uninjured side first, before coming around to the front of him and crouching down. You meet his eyes, his brown ones clouded over with pain, and your fingers gently reach to rest on top of his hand that’s still clutching his side. You give it a squeeze and he nods in understanding, closing his eyes tight, and you help him remove his fingers from the wound. You stand back up, and begin to pull the rest of the suit down his side and to his waist. Chan barely lets out so much as a whimper when you peel the rest of the material off of him. 

His lack of reaction is not what surprises you the most, though. The biggest surprise comes when you reach the spot on his side where you know a sickening amount of blood should be, and you find that it’s all dried — and that the wound has already begun to heal over. 

Huh?

Your brain can’t compute it. You glance up at him in complete confusion, but his head is hung low, and your heart breaks enough to distract you from all of the questions you want to ask. You force yourself to push the confusing mess of thoughts away until later. You can’t think about any of that right now. You can’t. 

“Chan?” Is what you say instead, knowing that you need to keep him awake enough to help him clean up, long enough to know he’s alright. Your hands are on his knees as you kneel between his legs and peer up at him. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to trace the newly-forming scars on his chest and arms, wanting nothing more than to kiss each mark and its associated pain away. You desperately want to know what happened, who hurt him like this, but you’re not sure you can handle it. You briefly register the older, faded scars that mark his skin, unsure of where they end and the new ones begin. 

You can’t figure it out — in front of you sits Chan, but it can’t be the Chan you know. It can’t be the one who giggles at your stupid jokes or falls asleep in your 8am lectures, or the one who remembers your coffee order every single time. The one who you swore had never fought with anyone in his life. The Chan in front of you looks so broken that you can’t put the two of them together. 

“You… okay?”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his again as he speaks, voice cracking and hoarse. Your heart stutters a bit in your chest as he attempts to look down at you, his eyes hooded over and half closed with the effort. He looks like he’s about to fall over, and still, he’s asking if you’re okay.

You’re hit so hard with sudden emotion that it causes you to inhale sharply without warning. Your hand lifts involuntarily to brush his hair back from where it’s falling into his eyes, and as he continues to try and hold your gaze, you register it all. This Chan is still your Chan. It’s the same Chan that has stirred feelings inside your chest that you were certain you could never feel again. The Chan whose intelligence and kindness still astounds you every single day. This Chan and your Chan are the same.

Your head spins.

When you finally make it to the bathroom, it’s all Chan can do to slouch down onto his bathroom floor. You help him out of the rest of his suit before crouching down beside him, wracking your brain for everything you’ve ever learned about cleaning wounds. You remain numb as he gives you single-word answers to where things are in his bathroom. It’s funny — you’ve been in his apartment so many times, but you’ve never needed to know where the antiseptic was. 

Chan’s eyes remain half-open as you work. He’s fighting with all his might, you can tell, and you can feel his eyes on you the whole time. You don’t think his gaze leaves you even once. It becomes monotonous: you clean the cut, he winces, you apologize. And repeat. Your mind wanders in what you’re sure is an attempt to protect yourself.

You’d come over tonight for your weekly movie night, letting yourself in with the code you’d long since been given access to. When hours had passed with no sign of Chan and no texts from him either, your heart had broken a little — had he forgotten? Was he okay? It was so unlike him that you’d stayed just in case, your heart racing with every little noise as you waited. 

You hate so much that your worst fears had come true.

Chan’s pain seems to ease in record time, bruises forming on his skin faster than you’ve ever seen. You have so many questions, but you push it all down, down, down. He falls asleep on his couch and you stay up all night, blanket pulled around your shoulders as you sit on the windowsill and make sure he’s still breathing. 

He wakes as the sun is beginning to rise, and you watch as he shifts to sit up, letting out a breath of what sounds like relief when he’s able to move without much trouble. Some of the cuts on his face and chest are already scabbed over. 

How?

When his eyes finally land on you, he jumps a little.

“Hi.”

”You didn’t sleep.”

It’s an observation rather than a question. You pull your knees up and rest your chin on them. “I was worried.”

It’s quiet, and he doesn’t know what to say. Neither do you.

“Well,” he clears his throat. “I’m glad you stayed.”

“Yeah.” Your voice is small, and he immediately feels guilty.

“I’m sorry.” He’s not sure what he expects you to do, what he expects you to say. You level him with your gaze, searching his face. Your eyes linger on the scabbed-over cut just above his brow, and you bite your lip before you speak again.

“It was…” You can feel your lower lip start to tremble in an act of betrayal, and you bite down on it to try and stop yourself from crying. “It was terrifying to see you like that, Chan,” you finally manage, and you know that after all these hours, the dam is about to break. You can tell he knows it, too, by the way his brows furrow even more, and his eyes widen just slightly.

“I know,” he murmurs, and that’s what does it.

Your hands move to cover your face as you finally let yourself cry, sobs muffled by your palms. You can hear the couch creak as Chan moves, and you can feel his presence as soon as he’s close. He whispers your name once, his voice breaking, and when he moves your hands away from your face, you don’t have the strength to stop him. He’s sitting next to you on the windowsill now. You sniffle, eyes looking anywhere but at him. Chan holds onto your wrists, rubbing gentle circles against the skin. 

“I’m so mad at you,” you finally say, and he lets go of your hands. He doesn’t retreat to his side of the window though, staying put as he nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he looks down.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” he says, voice quiet. “I hope you understand why I couldn’t… but you still have every right to be pissed at me.”

It’s silent, and you stare at him in disbelief. There are so many thoughts running through your head, and it takes you a moment to settle on just one. “You think I’m mad because you didn’t tell me that you were Spiderman?” You finally say, causing him to look at you again in surprise.

“I mean, yeah? Why else—“

“I’m mad,” you emphasize, “because you’re out there getting hurt, and my heart literally can’t take the thought of that, oh my god, Chan.” Your voice breaks, and fuck, you’re about to cry again, but you can’t stop. Your eyes trace over his face, pausing where the bruise is starting to form on his cheek, and you feel frustration begin to build again as you angrily blink back tears. “What the fuck, Chan. Why the hell are you… I mean, if I hadn’t been able to help you last night, I wouldn’t — I just, I can’t even imagine—“

Your words are cut off as Chan’s hands find the side of your face. His gaze is firm as he looks at you, and his sudden boldness catches you off guard, your words dying in your throat. Once he seems to realize that you’re not going to run, his thumb moves to caress your jaw, and you can’t help the shiver that spreads through you at the gentle touch. Your hands lift to rest on his arms where they’re holding you, and you’re speechless, your eyes unable to leave his. He takes in a deep breath, and you follow.

“I’m here,” he says, and you draw in another shaky breath. You don’t think he’s ever been this forward with you before, but you’re grateful for it. He’s warm, and he’s here. He’s alive.You’re torn between wanting to never leave his side again, and needing desperately to be away from him so that you can think.

“I think it might be good for me to go now that I know you’re okay,” you say softly after a moment, and you can see the hurt that briefly shadows his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, though, and he nods, removing his hands from your face. 

“I understand.”

“And I… I probably need some time.”

He nods again, and your heart breaks at the thought of leaving him, but you have to. For now. Your feet feel leaden as you get up, going through the motions as you grab your backpack from the hook by his door. You barely register putting on your shoes, your mind on autopilot until it’s broken by his voice from just behind you.

“Y/N?”

Your name coming from his lips feels like a punch to the gut, and you almost reach out for him again, but you hold firm.

”Yeah?”

“I’m sorry. Can you just…” he sucks in a breath. “Can you please not tell anyone? About, you know—”

His words hit like a ton of bricks. You cut him off, expression full of silent fury at the insinuation. “Yeah. I won’t.” 

You’re pissed that he even had to ask, and he knows it, but there’s nothing else he can do. His secret is more important than anything — he just wishes it didn’t have to be more important than you. 

It takes three days for you to end up back at his door. He’s missed all of your shared college courses so far this week, and you’re worried. You’re terrified, actually, and you need to see him.

When he opens the door, you do a double take. It’s almost like nothing happened to him at all. The bruises and cuts are barely-there, and you’re reminded of the miles-long list of questions you have stored in the back of your brain. He’s surprised to see you, you can tell, and he blinks slowly before stepping aside to let you in.

“How are you?” You level him with raised eyebrows as you take off your shoes, and he nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I know. I was worried that—“

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you interrupt. “Don’t worry.” You look down, your heart twisting painfully in your chest when you remember the words he’d said to you. ‘Can you please not tell anyone?’ You cross your arms as you head over to the living room, but you don’t sit down. You don’t really know what your plan had been — you’d just needed to see him. 

“Oh,” comes his soft reply before he adds, “I mean… I didn’t really think that you would.”

Your eyes briefly meet his across the room, confused, before you recover and look back down at the floor. “So then what were you worried about?”

You can feel his gaze intent on your face. “You.”

Your breath catches and your eyes swiftly meet his again. You blink. “Me?”

“Yeah.”

“Chan,” you say after a moment, trying to push down the bubble of irritation you feel building in your chest. “You didn’t even text me once.”

He’s quiet for a moment before he says quietly, “You said that you needed time.”

“To process, yes! But you didn’t even text me that you were okay. I was worried about you, Chan. Why would you be worried about me? I’m not the one coming through your window and fainting from injury, now am I?”

You can see the guilt flicker across his face. “I know,” he says, and then he suddenly feels the need to apologize again. “I’m sorry that I didn’t message you, but I didn’t think you’d want to hear from me.” He pauses. “Ever again, maybe.”

You can hear the sadness in his voice, and your heart breaks. You feel the anger in you start to dissipate as he looks away from you. Your eyes catch on the barely-there faded scar across his eyebrow, and your mind is filled with painful memories of the Chan you’d seen that night. 

“You’re so fucking stupid, Chan.” 

He knows. But judging by the way you sit down on his couch instead of storming out again, he thinks that somehow, his stupidity has already been forgiven. 

It’s quiet as he joins you. You can feel him looking at you, and when you can’t take it anymore, you look back at him pointedly. He blushes, quickly looking away when your eyes meet. You sigh, your head falling into the back of the couch before you turn and curl up against it, your eyes drifting shut. 

"Is that my sweater?" 

Your eyes shoot open, and it's as if he's finally grown the courage to look at you directly again now. His brown eyes search yours, and he motions to the shirt you're wearing. You look down — even though you know he's right — and your cheeks are on fire. You’re wearing the sweater he’d leant you forever ago on a cold night for your walk home — the one you’d never returned. You slept in it almost every night, and he hadn’t asked for it back. 

"Keeps me warm," you mumble, tugging on the hem. It's silent for a beat before you continue, voice even quieter than before. You pause, ruminating on your next words before you take a deep breath and say, “The last few nights, wearing it kind of made me feel like you were safe.”

You can hear his intake of breath before he says, soft, “Are you mad at me?”

You shake your head, because you’re not. You’re scared, stressed, worried sick — but you’re not mad. Not anymore. “No, Chan.”

The nickname sends a flood of relief through him more than your actual reply does. 

“I’m not mad,” you continue, “because of course you’re Spiderman. Of course you’re putting yourself in danger trying to protect others. I love how selfless you are, Lee Chan — I always have. But me? I’m selfish. And I’m scared to death of losing you.”

All he says, all he can say, is, “I’m scared, too.”

You look at him again now. You search his face as you ask, “Of what?”

“Of getting hurt. Of… of losing you, too.”

Your heart is suddenly beating so fast you think it might soon break free from your rib cage. You don’t know why you say it, because you’ve already got his undivided attention, but his name comes out breathlessly anyway. “Chan?” 

“Yeah?” He’s looking at you with those beautiful, big, questioning eyes, and you can’t help it. 

“I think it might be a terrible time for me to say this,” you blurt out, “but I — Chan, I’m in love with you.”

Silence.

Chan blinks.

“Wait, what?”

Your face flushes, and it’s your turn to look away. “Sorry,” you murmur.

“No, don’t — oh my god. What?”

You’re not sure what he wants from you. You’re embarrassed now, pulling your knees up to your chest in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from your feelings. Your face is flushed as you turn to look out the window, and you can almost hear Chan’s brain buffering as he remains silent.

“Do you mean that?”

“Why would I say it if I didn’t mean it?” Your voice comes out a bit harsher than you intend it to, but you don’t take it back. 

“I…” He trails off. He doesn’t say anything more, and the quiet is almost deafening. You’re finding it a little harder to breathe as the seconds pass, and you wrack your brain for something, anything to say to fill the stifling silence.  

“I’m going to go,” is what comes out, and then you’re standing up so abruptly that you feel a little dizzy. The scene is familiar — you, running from what you’re feeling, running from him. 

“Wait,” he blurts out, and you do. You pause in spite of everything in you that’s begging you to run, and then he says, “Can I… I mean, do you want to… kiss?”

You turn back, eyes wide. It’s such a ridiculous question, such an innocent thing for him to ask in light of everything that’s happened in the last few days — but it’s so Chan that you almost forget about it all. This is probably a bad idea, you both know that — and you don’t care. You don’t know how this is going to work, but you’ll figure it out. 

Because it’s your Chan — the one who cares so much, the one who gives you hope, the one who wants nothing but for the world to be a better place.

“I mean — I love you too,” he says into the silence, and you realize that you haven’t given him an answer.

“Yes,” you breathe out before he can panic. “Fuck. I have so many questions, but first, yes. Yes, I want to kiss you, Lee Chan.”

You can hardly believe the giggle and shy smile he sends your way before he kisses you breathless. 

Yeah, you think to yourself as he pulls back, as your fingers lift to gently trace the barely-there bruise on his cheek, as he leans into the warmth of your hand. As you think about how he’s been doing all of this — trying to change the world — alone.

Yeah, you think. You’ll figure it out. 

TAGLIST: @waldau @minisugakoobies @tae-bebe @gyuminusone @wqnwoos @wheeboo @christinewithluv @lvlystars @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @iluvseokmin @seohomrwolf @pan-de-seungcheol @bewoyewo @kyeomkyeomi @mingyuscoffee @harry-the-pottypus @lightprincess-world @icyminghao @bella-l @darkypooo

[gardenofnoah]

the friend that you are

tags: MDNI, smut (DP), afab gn reader (they/them pronouns), kiri x baku x reader, the beginning of a triad probably, eijiro is a grimy little opportunist and we love him for it, dubcon (reader is hit with a sex quirk), there is absolutely no plot here and this now feels like a crack fic to me but no level of cringe will stop me

wc: 2.2k

Eijiro can't think of a time he's ever driven so fast in his life.

but when Bakugou—pro hero Dynamight—texts him "SOS" without any further context, it feels warranted. he can't pull into the driveway fast enough, fighting with the seatbelt for only a second before he's up the walk and through the door—already hardening his skin in anticipation of a threat he's sure exists. he hears a whimper that sounds an awful lot like you, and that has him nearly kicking his best friend's bedroom door down—

"oh," he says, blinking dumbly at the scene before him.

you, nearly folded in half and naked as the day you were born at the end of the bed, split wide open on Katsuki's cock, in tears and babbling with almost no coherency. Katsuki, flushed red from head to toe, who hasn't even looked up to see that there's an intruder in his bedroom. Eijiro takes a step back, already stuttering out a flustered and half conscious apology like he wasn’t just called here—

"wait, Ei—" Katsuki rasps, and it freezes Eijiro in place because he sounds panicked in a way he doesn't recognize, "they got hit with a fuckin' quirk—"

the thrust of his hips punctuates every staggered phrase out of his mouth. "been at this for hours. s'just getting worse—"

Eijiro knows immediately what's being asked of him and can't find it in himself to say a word. the pauses stretches on between them.

“c’mon, Red,” Katsuki is all but begging now, and Eijiro can almost see the way that each second that passes has his friend's heart skipping painfully in his chest. “you have to—just, do something—“

Eijiro feels his own heart drop at the way Katsuki is so visibly in distress—face contorted both in pleasure and genuine fear. his gaze falls to you—flushed with fever, writhing and sweating through the blankets Katsuki had evidently tried to swaddle you in. he doubts you’re even lucid at this point—your stuttered pleas even less coherent than they were only a minute ago. every roll of Katsuki’s hips has you gasping—gulping for air and twisting your body in search of more. against his own morality, Eijiro feels his cock stir in his jeans.

“did you—have they—” he starts hesitantly, unsure how to ask. unsure how to proceed.

“came fuckin’—a lot,” Katsuki grits his teeth, trying to keep his grip on you—trying to keep you still in your search for some pleasure he can’t provide—not on his own. “don’t know what fuckin’ shit quirk this is but i can’t—”

he’s cut off mid sentence by the force of your next orgasm—Eijiro watches the breath get knocked out of him and it looks painful. Katsuki squeezes his eyes shut tight, his whole body rigid as you try to take more than he can give. he doesn’t stop the movement of his hips—doesn’t dare do anything else but bully his way into your slick, swollen heat, but it’s clear that he’s exhausted.

Eijiro sighs, running a hand over his face. it's not as if he's never thought of this—it's not as if he's never fucked his fist to the thought of his best friend fucking you in the private shame of his own room—but this is uncharted territory between the three of you. he decides that that conversation can be had another time—after he’s sure you’ll be alright. after all, it would be antithetical of everything he’s sworn himself to be for him to turn away from you right now.

“alright,” he breathes, reaching for his belt. he rids himself of his pants with urgency, shamefully hard in his briefs. “you’ll have to move. you alright to get underneath?”

Katsuki pulls out of you with a broken, exhausted groan that goes straight to Eijiro’s cock—he tries not to think about it. he sees the blond nod in his peripheral, and watches as he leans over your limp body.

“baby,” he rasps softly, pressing a kiss to your sweat-slicked forehead, “Red’s gonna help me make it better, alright? just a little more for me?”

you whine underneath Katsuki, arching into his affection, and Eijiro has the thought that he ought to look away from such intimacy, but he doesn't. you're rolled you to your side so the blond can slide in next to you, and then he pulls you up until you’re draped across his chest. Katsuki’s feet stay planted on the floor and with the way that you’re spread open over his thighs, Eijiro can see everything. he feels downright grimy for the way he cannot look away from the slick that drools from your abused little hole and disappears down the curve of your ass, nor from the way Katsuki’s cock still shines with it—rock hard and nearly purple with the strain of trying to keep his own orgasm at bay, cradled between your cheeks. he fights the urge to brush his thumb through the arousal that’s collected at the tip.

“how—do you want to—”

“just fuckin'—put it in,” Katsuki rasps, clearly resigned to the situation.

Eijiro blinks, unsure he’s heard his friend correctly—but there’s nothing but pure desperation on the smaller man’s face, and it clicks.

he’s really doing this.

he shoves his briefs down unceremoniously, exhaling sharp and harsh. he takes himself in hand, pumping once, and then twice—completely unnecessary, because he’s been ready to sink inside you since he walked in the door.

“i’m sorry about this, sweetheart,” he finds himself murmuring down to you, trying to at least be kind.

“p-please—” it’s a broken sob that leaves your lips as you arch back against Katsuki, “please—”

it’s all the redhead needs to line himself up and push forward, unable to stop the gasp that leaves him when you surround him in a vice grip that puts his fist to shame.

he splits you open carefully, or tries to, until one hard kick of your hips sucks him in to the hilt.

you wail, straining in Katsuki’s hold as you fight to get closer. he goes rigid with the effort it takes not to cum right then. you thrash beneath him, trying to fuck yourself on his cock—

“alright,” Katsuki grits, trying to adjust underneath you. Eijiro recognizes the version of Katsuki in front of him to be not unlike pro hero Dynamight—a little cold, focused as if it’s an emergency. he supposes this is also an emergency, and feels some guilt about it also maybe being the best day of his life. “stay there for a second. just let me—”

Eijiro watches his best friend spit into his hand and smear it over himself, and knows suddenly and with certainty that there is no coming back from this. Katsuki looks properly debauched, flushed from his cheeks down to his neck and covered in a sheen of sweat, as he takes himself in hand and lines up with your puckered entrance.

“don’t you have to get them—”

“no,” Katsuki cuts him off, sparing him a glance as he pushes into your body, “already—fuck—tried this today—”

Eijiro can’t say anything, then, because he feels everything—the squeeze of your slippery insides, and the curve of his best friend’s cock pressed snuggly against his own, separated only by that thin barrier.

“oh fuck,” he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. he cracks one open to look at you and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

you’ve gone silent for the first time since he walked in, frozen in some picture of pleasure that he knows is exactly what you needed. your pretty mouth hung open, eyes rolled back into your head, suspended in time between the two of them—

Eijiro’s hips kick forward, seemingly of their own will, and you’re brought back to the present. you clamp down around him hard, and Katsuki must feel it too, because he lets out a strangled whimper that does well to possess Eijiro completely.

and he can’t stop, then—carving out a space for himself inside you, selfishly, he thinks—but he can’t bring himself to be gentle. the pace of his thrusts are brutal and evidently necessary, because for the first time you go pliant against Katsuki’s chest, content to take everything he’s giving you.

and he wants to give you everything.

he feels Katsuki’s cock slide against his—weakly, like he’s at least trying to keep up with Eijiro but can’t quite do it—and it unlocks something primal inside of him.

“you just needed stuffed full, huh?” he hears himself say, leaning down to bite at the soft give of your stomach, and under the curve of your breast. he has no idea if you can even hear him at this point, but he thinks you might, judging by the way you go rigid underneath him.

“shit, ei—” Katsuki gasps—if it’s a warning, he ignores it.

“just needed these sweet little holes plugged up,” he coos, pausing his taunting to fasten his lips around a nipple and suck, scraping it gently with sharpened teeth until he feels it pebble under his tongue.

you cry out, shaking like a leaf underneath his onslaught. he feels half out of his mind at the sound of your choked moans and the slick suction of you pulling him back in every time he pulls out.

“poor thing,” he murmurs, angling his hips until he feels the head of his cock hit where you need it the most, “you just needed both of us to make you feel good, huh?”

he looks down to watch himself disappear inside you, and sees Katsuki’s thick fingers reach over your hip to rub tight little circles into your achy clit. the contrast between his friend’s uncharacteristic gentleness and his own newfound brutality makes him dizzy.

he knows with certainty that it’s going to make you cum. knows that it'll be enough to break the hold the quirk has on you. you just need a little more.

“c’mon sweetheart,” he breathes, leaning down to nip at your jaw, “let’s make Kat cum, hm? he’s working so hard to help you.”

he feels out of his body and knows he is way out of line when he reaches down between your bodies to spread his fingers around where Katsuki still fucks your ass. he brushes his fingers over the base of the blonde’s cock and against his balls—tutting at how tight they are. Katsuki lets out a groan that sounds like it was torn from him against his will.

“fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“he’s hurting for you baby,” Eijiro whispers into the curve of your throat as he picks up the pace of his own thrusts, “you gonna make him cum?”

it’s a chain reaction, then—he feels all the breath leave your body as every muscle locks up—freezing in time for one devastating moment before you’re pushed over the edge. howling like a wild animal and fluttering rapidly around both cocks stuffed deep inside you. it sends Katsuki hurtling toward his own release—Eijiro can’t help but be wholly overcome by the way his best friend’s face contorts with pleasure and unbridled relief—

his own orgasm surprises him and he lets go inside your body, feeling you wring him dry. he fights the grip of your silken walls to fuck every drop of it deep inside you, hooked on some possessive instinct his brain has latched onto. his hips stutter with the effort and the breath that leaves him is ragged and spent, hot against your rapidly cooling body.

you jolt underneath him with little aftershocks as his hips roll forward gently, and he tells himself it’s for the sake of making sure the quirk has well and truly worn off. he feels Katsuki soften inside your body and he feels stuck—unable to pull himself from the feeling of both of you wrapped around him and against him—so he lets out a breath that sounds more fatigued than he feels. hopes it covers the way he wants to keep taking.

“let me out, Red,” Katsuki says weakly, and it snaps him out of it—at least a little bit. Eijiro chuckles, sliding out of you gently and moving back some so the blond can roll you back to your side. for one fleeting moment, Eijiro catches sight of the cum leaking out of both of your puffy little holes, and fights the urge to clean you up with his tongue.

Katsuki tucks you in with the cleanest blankets he can find and lays flat on his back next to you, an arm slung over his face as his breathing returns to normal. Eijiro watches and feels removed—like a voyeur seeing something he shouldn’t.

“the fuck are you standin’ there for?”

eijiro jumps, eyes snapping to katsuki, who is still not looking at him.

“i—uh. do you want me to—”

“just lay down, Ei,” Katsuki sighs, letting his arm drop from his face to reach over and hit the empty space on the other side of you. “we’ll fuckin’…talk about it later.”

Eijiro nods, exhaling shakily as he makes it to the side of the bed in record time, climbing in beside you gingerly. Katsuki doesn’t move his arm—just clasps a warm, calloused hand around Eijiro’s shoulder and it feels like a silent , affectionate affirmation he didn’t know he needed.

“thanks. for helping,” Katsuki whispers gruffly, eyes still closed. Eijiro hums, relaxing under his hold. your breath puffing slow and sweet in his ear.

“yeah. of course.”

[igotanidea]

Jealous :J.T. x fem!reader

Summary/idea: by @littleprettykitten:

Suddenly i have an urge to ride Jason Todd, marking his neck with bite marks and scratching his chest, all jealous and possessive because someone was flirting with him. I want that hunk of a man mewling under me, saying my name like a prayer and telling me how much he loves me. I want bruises on my hips because he was clutching them too tightly and his teeth on my breasts and shoulders because that was the only way he could muffle sounds he was making.

So, here it is.....

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI!

***

„You know, usually it’s me who make you jealous like that. ….” She whispered grinding her hips more into him, causing a groan to escape his throat.

“I didn’t….”

“Sh, baby.” She pecked his lips, lightly, teasingly, pressing her body closer to his, nibble fingers running around his abs, chest and shoulders, barely touching, igniting his fire and the need for more “don’t talk….. just feel me….”

Barely a few hours ago they left the house, finally finding some time for the long-overdue date. The plan was simple – movie and dinner. Just spending time together with no rush, no fighting criminals, no patching wounds.

Well, it did not exactly go as it was supposed to.

Sure, they get to the movie theater, but from that, the things started to go downhill, making the date less than romantic.

“Can you go and buy the tickets, Jay? I’ll just take a quick stop by the bathroom.”

“Sure, princess. You go and powder your nose or whatever else you have to do.”

So she went. And when she came back, there was a unfamiliar girl talking to Jason and fucking twirling the strand of the hair on her finger, making doe eye at Y/N’s boyfriend, giggling in a way-too-friendly way.

“Are you here alone?” the girl smiled, putting a hand on his biceps. “It’s such a coincidence I am too. And I could really use some company. “

“I’m not really interested.” He muttered, moving away from her touch. Y/N was the only person in the whole world that were allowed to get this close to him.

“Why not? You seem like you are in need of a girl’s attention. Clearly you are touch starved and I know how to take care of a man.”

“I actually got a girlfriend.” He hissed

“ Really? She’s not doing much of a good job then” the girl laughed “besides, I don’t see her.”

“turn around!” Y/N called from behind, silent fury on her face as the girl spun and looked her up and down “now you see her.”

“I don’t see much.” The girl smirked, but before Y/N could start a fight, Jason stood up from his seat, wrapped an arm around her waist and led her straight toward the screening room, whispering soft, reassuring words in her ear and caressing her skin gently. That did not, however, stop Y/N from turning her head and throwing the daggers at that freak who dared to even come close to her Jason. She just smirked vindictively and both girls knew what that was supposed to mean. 

He’s going to be mine.

Well, over Y/N’s dead body.

Much to Y/N’s displeasure, the girl entered the same room and took a seat right next to  them. Oh, great, now the movie might as well not even exist. The only thing Y/N was able to concentrate on now was the smell of too much used perfume, slight, flirty giggling and annoying whispering.

“You know, I think you could play the main role in that movie” the girl whispered, not even trying to hide what she was saying to Jay “you are so much more handsome than the lead….”

“Could you just stay quiet?” he mumbled

“And so well-build” the girl continued, touching his chest “all muscles, so hot.”

“Will you stop this? I told you I’m not interested.”

“Come on, sunshine. You have a chance to take me home. Aren’t you at least a bit interested how it could be with someone who’s open to some experimentation? Not all vanilla?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Your girl, obviously. I know she can’t satisfy a man like you.”

“What the….”

“Enough!!” finally Y/N snapped and jumped to her feet, getting some shouting and cussing about disturbing the peace. Well she couldn’t care less.

“Y/N, baby, please sit down and try to relax….” Jason tried to calm her down, but she was past that. Her eyes were burning with rage and fury, possessiveness of him finding the way out.

“Relax? She’s trying to seduce you!”    

“And clearly it’s working” the girl laughed.

“Do you want to take this outside you little…..?!” before Y/N could finish that sentence one of the cinema worker appeared behind them and, well, to say the least, kicked them out. Awesome. One hell of  a date.

But frankly, it gave Y/N the opportunity to drag Jason back to their place and that’s how he ended up splayed on the bed with her straddling his lips and riding him like crazy, not allowing him to take any action or even a single breath.

“Baby….. princess…..” he whined grabbing on her hips and trying to force her to move faster. The slow, punishing pace she set was slowly making him crazy.  “please…. Don’t tease me. You know that girl there did not….”

“She was fucking flirting with you!” she hissed, pushing his hands away, pining them by his sides and slowing down even more making him throw head back in frustration “and you’re mine.” Leaning forward she started kissing his exposed neck, licking and biting hard enough to form a hickey. The sign of belonging.  In the most visible place he would never be able to hide. “I want you to remember that.”

“Y/N…..” he panted, once again trying to grab her hips, but being too whiny and putty and weak because of all her actions. He never needed to say a thing, the sounds, the groans and moans he was making telling her how much pleasure she was giving him. But…. She was possessive. She wanted more from him and wasn’t going to let go until he was completely falling apart beneath her. She wanted to make a mess out of him to the point where all he wanted was her , her body, her touches. She wanted to wipe the thought of the rest of the female race off his mind. He was supposed to think only about her.

“Do you want me to bond you?” her right hand started tracing patterns on his chest “cause I know how to do that my pretty boy. Unless you behave….”

“No…. no, please….. Ah, I ….. I want …. Y/N……”

“I love it when you say my name like that, Jaybrid.” She whispered in his ear, picking on the pace, skin slapping on skin, echoing through the empty, dark room.

“Y/N….” he whimpered, wanting more, more, more, but unable to ask her for it, settling on anything she would give him. Consumed by her. By the lust and need. And yet, still holding back. The way his face was twisting in pleasure, his eyes fluttering close, his breath hitching and how he was biting on his lower lip was telling her that he was fighting to conceal all the sounds she needed. Well not a chance.

“What do you want love?” one way or another, she was going to get them out. No matter the cost. And if biting on his earlobe, scratching his chest, grinding and circling the hips to create different angle and pushing past his limits was the way to achieve that she was not opposed to.  

“You…. I want you. Please…. So bad. More. More, please…”

“Tell me you love me.”

“I fucking love you. I love you. I am yours. Please, please…..Y/N. Y/n love, let me touch you. ”

“Jason…..” she whispered seductively, groping his pecks  “Jason…..” she was strong and the jealousy definitely spur on her dominant side, but she was still just a woman. With needs. And with her perfect man whining and begging for her.  And her control was slowly slipping. Slightly. “Yes. Touch me.” suddenly his hands were free, clutching her sides, pressing her closer, faster, further. Going in deeper, hitting that one spot where she needed him most.

“Ah!” it was now her turn to let out a moan. “Jason….”

“Y/N,….. Y/N…..” he chanted like a prayer, propping himself up, arms traveling to her back, trapping her  “I love you, I love you…. you….fuck,  so good.” Their sweaty bodies clung to each other almost like with glue, reaching for any part of each other they could possibly reach.

“Just good, huh?” she smirked, tangling fingers in his hair, pulling gently “just good?” her hot breath fanned over his sweaty, reddened face.

“Fucking perfect” he bit on her shoulder trying to muffle another groan and she shivered in pain and pleasure combined, tightening the grip on him, her hips moving on their own accord in the pace the legs were barely able to withstand. But she was far from giving up. She was going to catch her high.  

“Say my name again.” she commanded, breathily, being so close to the release. So fucking close. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Y/N.” his mouth travelled down her body, kissing her collarbone and sinking teeth in her the soft flesh of her breast, soothing the stinging pain with his tongue.

“Again!” she screamed throwing head back “Again!”

“Y/N. Mine. “

“Yes! Yes!” she screamed, holding him tighter “Jace, baby, god, please!” she was not going to let go before pushing him past his breaking point “Cum with me. Cum with me now! I fucking need you to cum! Inside, please, baby. Fill me!”

“Y/N!” at the end, overwhelmed by the feeling of her pussy clenching around him, his lustful brain finally helped him find enough strength to snap his hips against her, squeezing her hips tight enough to leave purple hand-shaped bruised.  “baby, my baby, my girl, my love.” He pressed his lips against her, kissing her frantically, with urgency and clashing teeth, throwing all his load inside her. So fucking deep, her entire body spasming in his embrace, nails clawing on his back, becoming one, not sure where he ended and she begun or the other way round.

“Y/N….” he panted pulling back and leaning his forehead on hers once his balls were empty and his cum was dripping from her pussy. “Baby….”

“You’re mine.” she managed to say “Mine. You hear me? Mine”

“Were you that jealous?” he raised an eyebrow

“Maybe. Maybe not. but fuck, you are just so hot whining underneath me.”

“I liked you on top.” He whispered leaning his head and pecking her lips gently, still keeping her in his embrace, their breaths slowly coming even.

“Really? Her eyes widened in surprise. “I mean of course you did. I am a fucking goddess.”

“Yes.” His flushed cheeks made this tank of a man look like a little, shy boy and damn, she loved that. She adored being the only one to make him this soft and submissive.

“We gotta do this more often than.”

@jasontoddsthickbabe - please forgive me, but I thought about tagging you.

[shadesoflsk]

      LULLABY FOR A BROKEN HEART

pairing: Leon Kennedy x Gn reader.

summary: After a mission, Leon musters up the courage to ask for one thing he's always wanted.

warnings: hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, fluff, Leon is touch starved, no consumption of alcohol but there are mentions of it, injuries, mentions of trauma.

word count: 2.1k

author's note: Hello! So... I had prepared some dad leon headcanons but after reading DI manga latest chapter... I knew I had to write something about it. I wrote this with a platonic relationship in mind but you can also see it as an established relationship! I just wanted an excuse to write about Leon because he is literally an angel ueueueue. He deserves the world.

      masterlist

With heavy and wobbly steps, Leon’s blurry vision—from the lack of sleep— could make out the frame of your door, your apartment’s door. A part of him knows that he may be a burden—or that’s what he believes. Fatality, sorrow, and overall bad outcomes are the only things his mind can register.

He doesn’t want to bother you. Hell, he doesn’t want to speak to anyone right now. The fact that he somehow made it safely to your front door was enough for him to know that you would be so angry at him. You shouldn’t drive after a mission. You shouldn’t—... let yourself die. He knows all those phrases by heart. 

He’s getting better. He’s a lot better, to be honest. He no longer drinks, but he may as well look drunk right now. His head was hurting like hell, but he blamed it on his mission. He’s getting too old for that shit. But, a healthy improvement doesn’t mean that he can’t fall. 

Recovery isn’t a straight line of betterment. There are nights when he can sleep like a baby. But then again, some days, he goes to sleep knowing that a nightmare may attack his dreams. 

His fist bangs against your door, at first trying to be quiet. But after a few seconds, some desperation came within his knocking, and a louder sound filled the already silent night. 

The melancholic feeling of being alone lasts a couple of seconds before he hears some steps inside your home, those get even closer until he sees the door opening. The sight he admires before him is far from comforting. The eyebags under your eyes, your disheveled hair, and the quiet yawn that escapes your lips say it all, you were sleeping. 

At first, you don’t say anything, letting the silence in the air fill the lack of response from both parts. Yours and Leon’s, two souls that are aching right now but for different reasons.

Leon, who is hurting because he doesn’t want you to see him like this. And yours because you’d give him the world just for him to stop blaming himself. Ironic, but in reality you’re two sides of the same coin.

Amidst the countless things you want to tell Leon, you step aside allowing him to enter your apartment. The one he knows as his cozy getaway. His second home. The first one is your mere existence. 

Physical things last no more than a few weeks, months, or years. Everything is doomed to cease existing. He has witnessed it through the years he has worked as an agent. Those gigantic and marvelous houses politicians love to brag about? A bomb would destroy them. That motorcycle he loves? Yeah, that one…. No more than a few pieces remained.

But the simple fact that you were alive and breathing meant so much. He wasn’t a stranger to death. He knows that he has become desensitized to those topics as much as he denies it. But even if someone were to die, their proof that they belonged to this world would live in those who loved them, those who were close to them. 

And that’s why you’re his home. The kind of home that served as a refuge when life got too much, when life stopped basking him with its sunlights but rather sent him a blizzard. Your presence was enough for him because you granted him the affection he has long forgotten he could have.

As he enters your apartment, the normalcy and everydayness of the living room embrace him like a thick and warm blanket. The usual smell of your scented candlelight also brings him back to the reality where he could feel safe.

He’s alone for a while, you let him sit on your couch even though he might stain it with the dirt on his pants and whole body. You don’t exactly care, you can clean it after. 

His eyes are unfocused as he waits for you to come back. At that moment, the memories of his last mission came to his mind. They don’t haunt him like they used to do in the past, where he decided to stop the voices from getting louder by drowning in alcohol.

Now, they replay in his mind like a Deja Vu, like a movie he was the main star in. However, it doesn’t mean they stop stabbing his heart knowing that he had taken lives. 

He used to be a religious person. Right now if someone asks him if he follows a certain God, he would respond with a simple no. But when he sees the bodies of those whom he had to kill, he would offer a silent prayer, asking whoever hears him that their souls could rest in peace.

Leon kills, but he’s also a lover of life. He loves the world and its people. He wants to believe that he'd be reminded as the one who fought for those who couldn’t, even if he didn’t want to be associated with that type of job.

In his mind, it may sound corny but he has started appreciating the simple things in life. The way someone would smile at him in the supermarket, the way a random stranger would greet him even though they don’t know him. It was a nice reminder that he was, in fact, alive.

Your steps break the silence—once again. In your hands, there’s a first aid kit. 

There’s a certain urgency in the way you sit next to him to treat his wounds. Your eyes never leave him as you try to make sure that nothing is hurting him. Even when he has awoken you from your sweet dreams, you’re the same caring and compassionate person as always.

An alcohol swab touches one cut he had on his temple, a bruise already forming on the skin. Proof that his head was literally slammed against a metal tube. Not his proudest moment, if he had to be honest.

“I’m not going to break, you know…” Leon finally speaks as your hand seems to slightly shake out of fear of bringing more pain to him.

You manage to let out a chuckle at his words. “I know. But I’m not taking risks.”

His eyes continue to remain fixated on your face, like a puppy who is looking at a treat. But rather, he’s like a homeless man admiring one of the prettiest houses he has ever seen.

There are no questions asked, nor complaints about anything related to his late-night visit. He appreciates the fact that he’s welcomed no matter what. Nonetheless, he can’t help but thank you for your hospitality.

“Thank you.” He murmurs as you clean another injury that was just above his eyebrow. “You’re too good for me.” Leon's words show a moment of raw sincerity.

Leon’s humanity is palpable, even when he doesn’t notice it. There’s a childlike glimmer in his eyes when he watches his favorite movies, a hint of regret when he talks about his missions, and a big sense of empathy when he speaks about the victims who died at his hands.

Leon’s kindness knows no limits. And you wish everyone could observe what an amazing human he is.

“Why is that?” You asked, scooting closer to hear him better. To pay full attention to what he’s about to say. There’s nothing Leon loves more than knowing he can really talk with someone about his feelings since he has mastered the art of closing off.

“For this…” He admits as his hands gesture your first aid kit, to your apartment as a whole. “I’m not used to being… pampered like this. I get hurt and I fix myself up.” His expression darkens slightly.

“Well… I’m here, aren’t I?” You give Leon a warm smile before pinching one of his cheeks making sure not to touch any of his cuts. “You don’t have to be alone all the time, Leon. You can rely on me.”

Leon’s lips turn into a shy smile as you pinch his cheek. “Yeah, I know.” He’s grateful for your hospitality and overall care. But it’s hard for someone who has always been in solitude to think that it’s okay to rely on someone, that it’s okay to need a person. 

He’s silent for a moment before asking a question that’s been nagging him for a while now. “But… Don’t you get tired of it? Of taking care of me?”

You instantly shake your head, responding with a blunt “Nope, never.” In fact, you would be awake all night long just to make sure he was alright. 

“You’re a God’s sent… I swear.” He chuckles as his gaze moves towards his own hands which are fidgeting. As if he was looking for something to grab, to hold onto. 

He hesitates for a few seconds, he doesn’t want to overstep boundaries but then again… He’s not used to being touched let alone hugged. But right now… he craves feeling the tender and intimate affection that a hug brings.

When was the last time he was touched? He doesn’t remember. The sole thought of admitting it’s been months if not years that he hasn’t been hugged brings embarrassment to his already troubled mind. 

You notice, you know Leon a little too well. You recognize every little quirk he has, from the way he sometimes sticks out his tongue when he’s focused on something to the way he looks at everyone before delivering a punchline.

But you wait for him, you want him to be comfortable. 

As a sigh leaves his lips, he finally speaks. “Can you hug me?” His words come out hushed, as if ashamed of himself for asking something so… banal, so simple. “I really need it.”

The way he speaks, the way his voice suddenly cracks and the way his fingers twitch even more tell you enough.

“Come here.” You encourage him, opening your arms. He wastes no time getting himself closer and wrapping his arms around you. The kindness that you’re showing him could bring him to tears, but he doesn’t let them fall. Right now, he just wants to be embraced.

He was bigger than you, being an agent built his body to be ready to fight, to kill. Of course his muscles would basically bury your frame as he curls himself into the hug. But funnily enough, he feels like a kitten that found solace on a rainy day. He feels getting even smaller and almost disappearing from the catastrophes of this world.

He could easily rest his head on your shoulder. But instead, he decides to bury his face in the crook of your neck, feeling even more at ease in this peaceful moment. Closing his eyes, he lets the warmth of your body soothe his aching soul.

He always takes care of everyone, his mind and soul are connected to people he may as well never see again. He feels too much, he feels everything. Nevertheless, there are times when he wants to be the one being doted on, to feel safe.

And right now… he is safe.

“You may think I’m stupid…” His words are muffled as his face is pressed into your neck, his stubble ever so slightly brushing against your skin.

“I sometimes think you’re stupid.” You tease him, trying to bring some humor to the situation as you sense that Leon is starting to doubt himself. Your arms hug him closer, tighter. Letting him know that you aren’t going anywhere. “But right now… I think you’re the most amazing person ever.”

Leon doesn’t say anything for the moment. His breathing is steady and calm, drowning in your so familiar scent. His fingers caress the back of your head, touching your hair reminding himself that you were there, as if the hug wasn’t enough.

“You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever known.” You murmur, pressing a kiss on the top of his head. “You fight so much, you’re so important to many people. You don’t even know how much I thank life for having a Leon Kennedy next to me.”

Your words break his heart a little. Not because you said something wrong, not at all. But rather… he can’t imagine how his existence could bring happiness to someone. Chris, Rebecca, hell everyone has helped him a lot. But you are like an anchor which he clings to.

“Don’t feed a stray dog…” He tries joking, but his voice is barely a whisper. You’re used to his jokes. Most of the time, they are harmless and light-hearted. However, sometimes they served to hide what he was truly feeling. “They’ll always come back.”

“I don’t want you to come back…”  You respond. letting your hand rub his back. “I want you to stay.”

And Leon is definitely going to stay, he’s going to stay with you and with everyone else. He will fight off every bioweapon, he will succeed in every mission. Just to come back to his home and to his life. A life he’s learning to love and enjoy.

[noneorother]

All the music you didn’t hear: The Good Omens soundtrack is lying to you. *Part 1*

The Bonkers Meta Series part 2: Electric Boogaloo.

I so rarely get a chance to misuse my experience in classical music, but here we are. When I realized on my most recent watch-through of the series that the David Arnold score was brilliant, but also really wonky in some parts and I couldn’t put my finger on why, @embracing-the-ineffable suggested I listen to the album soundtrack to compare.

And when I tell you what I found hidden in there, you’re going to need Eccles cakes...

1) The Song is the Clue

So right up top we have this banger. The 12th track on the album is the orchestral backdrop to the scene in the Job minisode where Aziraphale reveals Crowley’s crow/goats. The duration is 2:22 (the only track with multiples on the album), and if you look at the track by itself it doesn’t mean much. But the song just before it is actually from this fucking scene:

You know, the one where there’s a song that’s a clue to a mystery. Except Clue is capitalised, and Aziraphale pronounces it. I’ve seen guesses that this is a reference to the movie Clue, but I would put a lot of money on the fact that we are supposed to read the title of the song currently playing at that moment in the show *as a Clue*, which is super convenient, because the word Clue is capitalized in the track listing. 

Seems like the overlords of Good Omens have a message for us : The song is the Clue. It’s what God wants. Cool cool cool. WHAT SONG?

2) Symmetry in all things 

Before I straight up tell you, we have to go back and look at season 1.

Now I’m far from the first to notice tons of parallels between the story, details and even lines in both seasons. It got me thinking that maybe there are some fun synch-up parallels between the two season’s soundtracks, seeing as they are both 6 episodes long. Here’s the end of S1 and then S2

Oh that’s a bummer, I thought to myself. 

They don’t even add up to the same number, or playtime, and neither of them is exactly 60 tracks. But do you want to hear a secret? S2 is actually missing 3 tracks on the album. And because there are 2 discs in S2 (cute), the numbers of the tracks start over again from 1. Remember how much God likes sevens? Check out where all the weirdness is happening in disc 2 (I’ve added the missing track listings in red to add context):

After checking each track with the show and listening side by side (for reasons that will become clear in another post) I can definitively say that there is something *very weird* going on at the end of episode 4. 

First is track 7, Zombie dressing room, which seems to actually reach over two distinct scenes of the photo evidence in the dressing room and then Shax in hell even though it only has one title.

But *between* these two scenes we get an eerily silent wine date with Aziraphale & Crowley.

There’s really no music or even sound here besides the dialogue and room tone (until after the cheers), and it seems like a very intentionally silent version of a ritz date from season 1.

My best guess is that we are supposed to divide that track into two tracks of 7, before and after the date to get a second track 7. Or maybe the silent one is missing music? The third track number 7 is the weirdest one. It’s this scene here, when Nina parks her bike, and Aziraphale parks the car at the end of S2E4.

If you take a close listen to the music, it’s a jaunty little piece, with an oom-pah base in 3 ⁄ 4 time. The thing is, this music does not exist in any Good Omens album. Please feel free to correct me, but I’ve tried to find any part of any song that this could even be a reprise of, and I Shazammed it to be sure it wasn’t anything else. This song does not exist anywhere except in this scene. (It quickly morphs into a reprise of the original theme once Nina leaves Aziraphale). It’s an invisible song.

So we have 3 tracks at the end of S2E4: a long one, a silent one and an invisible one. Only one of which is numbered 7, but that all fit into that place in the track listing.

Which, when we add the two extras to the original total of fifty-nine we get... sixty-one! Hey wait a minute.

How are we going to get to 62?

3) The real missing track. 

So the real reason we had to go back to the S1 album was because it contains the missing track that God is talking about. Let’s compare the last tracks on each album.

I’ve highlighted the mismatch between the in-show music and the album in S2, which means I had to add A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square back into the S2 album because guess what, it’s not in the S2 album. Even though it plays in the show. 

You want to know how not in the album it is? Amazon had to track it in the show as a season 1 song. They had to give Tori Amos credit for her song on Good Omens in the X-ray bonus features because that’s how not in the album this song is.

So my fellow beings, if the song is the Clue, then It’s what God Wants.

And if God wants a happily ever after with Aziraphale and Crowley on their own side, then by Job, I think Neil is going to give it to her.

-----------

And there's more where that came from! Part 2 coming shortly.

[alphajocklover]

Hey 😈 I wish someone would help me become a massive gay bodybuilding whore. I’m already on my way gaining weight, but I wanna be gigantic. Think you could help?

So you want to become, in your own words, a massive gay bodybuilding whore. That shouldn’t be too hard. As I’ve already shown you through my other post, there are numerous ways that people can get transformed into different types of jocks. The fact you want to specifically be a slutty gay jock does complicate things a little, since certain methods would turn you straight, but it’s still pretty simple. Instajock comes to mind as a good method for example, although I’ve talked about that app quite a bit recently and would rather discuss something new. There are many ways people can transform that I haven’t mentioned in the slightest, and your question actually brings up one I’ve been wanting to talk about for a long time. Mainly the emoji you used. Yep, for this transformation we’re going to get some help from someone very special: the Devil.

When I say the devil, I don’t really mean ‘The Devil’. Don’t get me wrong, he is a devil, but he’s not the devil from the bible. He just… works for him. I know that sounds bad, and honestly it definitely is. I don’t know much about the religious side of the magical world, but I do know that the Devil, with a capital D, does exist. He might be a fallen angel who wants to turn humanity to sin like from religious text, or he might just be a very powerful magical being using human religion to boost his own reputation, but either way he definitely exists. And just like in the old folk stories, he makes deals with people in exchange for their souls. Strangely, as the stories had spread and grown more prevalent, the demand for a deal with the Devil has actually skyrocketed. You’d think a bunch of stories about how making a deal for your soul is a bad idea would discourage people, but surprisingly it’s only increased business. Because of that the Devil’s operation has grown. The Devil is powerful, but he’s not god, he isn’t omniscient. So, to keep up with demand, he began to delegate. Instead of doing one deal at a time and seeing to every deal personally, he has a large team of demons that make deals for him. That's where my friend Nick comes in.

Nick isn’t his real name, but since humans can’t really pronounce his name he just lets me call him Nick. He is one of the more powerful demons working for the Devil, and specializes in making sexually explicit deals. As you can probably guess, he deals with a lot of people and has made a lot of deals. He’s not as outright evil as you might expect though, and he was actually a close friend of my Uncle. He had a sort of soft spot for my Uncle, and would often help him out with certain things. I don’t know how they met or why my Uncle seemed to be friends with a literal demon, but they got along really well. Now that my Uncle’s gone though, he helps me instead. I think he does it a bit out of guilt. He couldn’t protect my Uncle, his favorite mortal, from being turned into a jock, so now he protects me. Because of this I like to send him a willing victim now and then, as a thank you.

So, your first instinct is probably to say no. I mean, as much as you want to be a gay jock slut, you probably don’t want to sell your soul and be doomed to an eternity in hell. The thing is, these days they usually don’t ask for your soul. The Devil long figured out that there were more subtle ways to get what he wanted, so usually the contracts ask for something else. Sometimes it’s something significant, sometimes it’s almost nothing. Whatever it is usually works into his very complicated plans somehow in a way we almost can’t comprehend, but he never asks for your soul anymore. In exchange for becoming a massive gay bodybuilder jock, all Nick would require is… your car.

Yes, the devil wants your car. You’re probably wondering why, and honestly I don’t know. It’s not even a new car, and it’s kind of lame. But that's what he wants, and in exchange he’ll give you the body and mind of your dreams. I know you’re probably pretty skeptical, and If I’m being honest there probably is some sort of catch, but-

Oh! Ok, so, you’re doing it. I was expecting a bit more resistance but you seem pretty sure. Well, I do hope it works out for you. All you have to do is write your name on the contract and the deal will be sealed. Just write your name at the bottom there… and perfect! You’ve just made a deal with a devil!

I know you feel a little confused, but give it a second, it will pass. A sudden change in your body is always disorienting, but you’ll get used to the new you pretty quickly. I mean, look at you! You’re absolutely massive! Those arms, those pecs, those shoulders! God you really got a great deal. You get to live out your fantasy life, and all you had to do was get rid of a piece of shit car. I can’t be sure why he wanted it, but my best guess was that it’s going to cause a butterfly effect where, because your car didn’t cause a traffic jam when it broke down or something, something else will never happen. But there isn’t any use in dwelling on it anymore. You’ve made the deal, so fucking enjoy it! Go out there and have hot gay sex with as many guys as you can! You made a deal with the devil, you might as well get all you can out of it!

**hey everyone! Been a little bit! I’ve been kind of distracted and busy lately but I’m still alive and kicking! Hope you guys like this story and keep tuned for more! I also wanna make clear I am not trying to offend any religious group. I just love the deal with the devil idea.**

[manias-wordcount]

Playing with Fire (Benimaru Shinmon)

Kinktober 2023 Day Twenty-Eight: Bath

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

You love nights like these.

  Nights where you can sit back with a sigh and enjoy being silent. Being alone. Nights where you can tilt your head back and look up at the star-filled night sky as you in soak in the warm, warm waters of the outdoor onsen for hours upon hours. Nights where you can clear your mind or think very quietly. Plan out what you want to do before bed. Think about what errands you need to run tomorrow. And just exist.

  So of course, when the onsen doors open, you don’t bother checking what woman decided to come in and join you. But you do raise some eyebrows at the rough way the door slides open. And as heavy footsteps start sounding afterward, you figure it wouldn’t hurt chancing a peak at whoever just came wandering it- just a little one at least. Though instead of a grumpy old lady or an overly excited young girl walking towards you- you’re met with a far, far, far different sight.

  A perfect view of your husband approaching you as he drops the towel around his waist and exposes his body to the cool, outdoor air.

  “Beni!” You’re practically shouting the man’s name as you turn around quickly and fully with a wild splash. One look at his face tells you that he’s not surprised by your reaction. Or that he necessarily cares about it. No, he just continues to step on with confidence. Standing at his full height. Straight-faced. Fully naked. As if he owns the place. As he belongs here. But you know the truth. And you’re almost certain he knows too given the fact that the two of you have been here many times before. And the big sign on the door leading to this particular bath. “Beni, get out! This is the girl’s side, you can’t be in here!”

  At your words, he falters. Right now, he’s standing at the edge of the bath. Ready to step in and join you. But for a second, he turns and looks at you. With a tilt of his head, he studies your expression carefully. Eyes dragging along your face and looking a little further downwards. At your neck. At your shoulders. At the instinctive way your arms have come up to cross against your chest and block your boobs from his sight (despite the fact that he’s seen them plenty of times before). At your torso, and the water surrounding it- blocking the rest of your body from being seen. And then he turns his head back up and looks straight back at you. The small hint of a devious smile, playing at his face.

  “Who said?”

  “The rules, Beni!” You exclaim back in response, but your words come far too late. Because before you can even finish your sentence, he’s already stepping into the water with you and shuddering at the change in temperature before relaxing completely. Your eyes widened as you took in your boyfriend’s complete and sudden disregard for the rules of the onsen. For a second, you glance at the onsen entrance, hoping and praying that no one was thinking about coming in until you managed to get him out of there.

  But then there’s the sound of more splashing. Waves rippling and water swishing around the bath. You turn around to look at your husband only to find that he’s closer than before. Much closer than before. In fact, when did he have time to sneak up on you? When did he have time to walk this far into the part of the bath that you’re lounging in? 

  When did he have time to get so close that you’re just barely a breath away.

  You suppose in a way, you should have expected it. In everything he does, Benimaru always marches to the beat of his own drum. It just so happens that this drum was a little quiet today. Maybe that’s why he came into the girl’s side of the bath and marched in like he owned the place without another word. Maybe that’s why he was able to sneak up on you- creeping closer and closer until suddenly he’s all but touching you. Standing face to face. Eye to eye. Breathe to breathe. 

  Maybe that’s why you’re a little too eager to let his hands reach out and touch you- even though you know in this moment just how much you both shouldn’t. How you just couldn’t. And yet…

  You don’t say anything as large hand places itself on your arms, and gently helps you uncross them- giving him a full view of your chest covered in water droplets and being lit by the stars. You don’t say anything as another hand reaches out and grabs onto the curve of your hips. His fingers spread out, almost possessively as they try to get as much of your ass as they can grab at this angle. It allows him to tug you a little closer than ever before. Hold you a little tighter. Have your chest press into his so you can feel the warmth spread from feverish his skin with every rise and fall of each breath. 

  You hum at his actions, the heat making your mind a little looser. Your judgment a little less clear. Any desire to follow the rules sounds a little like a fever dream now. Because the water you’re standing in? It makes you feel nice. It makes you feel relaxed. But him? He makes you feel so warm. He makes you feel so hot. And that hard thing pressing up against your lower stomach just below the surface of the water?

  It makes you feel even hotter.

  “What were you saying about rules?” Benimaru asks you, an eyebrow raised as the corner of his lip tilts upwards- almost sharing with you a smile. But you don’t pay his words any mind. Not while you’re busy letting one hand reach up and wrap around his shoulder as your hands reach up to play with his hair. Not while you’re busy leaning into his touch impossibly more- to steal some more of that warmth- some more of that fire- that only your husband can bring to you. And certainly not while your other hand is reaching down, down, down, and wrapping around a very, very dangerous thing. One that will surely result with you bent over the side of the bath and screaming his name if you’re not careful.

  But that’s fine with you. When you married Benimaru, you knew you were playing with fire.

  And he knew just how much you loved to get burned. 

[water-to-drink]

LMFAOO YOUR NEUVILLETTE FICLET ABOUT THE READER THINKING ALL WATER TASTES THE SAME IS SO FUNNY 😭 imagine if neuvi finds out his s/o doesn’t even like drinking water 😭 like they just drink juice or soda all the time. Literally hate drinking water like THEY WOULD DRINK IT IF THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT LMFAOO

I Don’t Like Water

(Pairing): Neuvilette x gn!reader

(Synopsis): Neuvillette finds out that you only drink juice or soda

(Tags/Warnings): Dialogue heavy, soda and energy drinks exist in Teyvat (just pretend), possible ooc Neuvilette, (if missed anything lmk)

(Word Count): 409

(A/n): Neuvillette might be ooc, but I love when composed characters lose their cool

Based off this mini fic

Iridescent eyes watched you intensely as you poured a vibrant colored drink into your cup, a sight the Chief Justice of Fontaine had quickly become accustomed to. Ever since you’ve moved in with Neuvillette, he noticed you would always drink juice or soda and replenishing your stock whenever you begin to run low

“Dear, I’m curious to ask something of you. Do you drink water by any chance?” You looked at your lover confused as you walked towards the table he was sitting at. “I’d notice that your beverages are usually those high in sugar, I have yet see to you drink water.”

“Oh, that’s because I don’t like drinking water.” You said nonchalantly

“I-I beg your pardon.”

“I do not like drinking water, I only drink it when there’s nothing else to drink.”

Neuvilette looked at you stunned. “Elaborate on what do you mean you don’t like drinking water?”

“I just don’t like the taste of it.”

“Perhaps you’ve been drinking water that don’t originate from the best sources, pure Fontaine water doesn’t have an unusual taste you might be referring to.”

“That’s the reason why I don’t like water, it doesn’t taste like anything.”

You see Neuvillette stop his line of thinking and take a deep breath through his nose. “Well, do you drink tea or coffee at the very least?”

“No… I prefer energy drinks over coffee.” Neuvilette turns away from you and covers his face with both of his hands. “Neuvi, It’s not that serious.”

Neuvilette takes his hands off of his face and looks up at you in disbelief and concern. Finally sitting straight he turns towards you and puts his hands on your shoulders

“My dear, light of my life, center of my world. For my sanity and health, please… please, please drink some water.” Your partner uncharacteristically begged

“But I don’t like the taste-”

“If it’s taste then put fruit in it!”

“That makes it taste weird.”

Neuvillette stands up and makes his way towards the window. He blankly stares at the scenery all the while trying to process what you just told him

“Is me not drinking water that has fish pee and nut in it, really that upsetting to you?”

“Dear, please before I catch a stroke.” Neuvillette pleaded sounding exhausted

“Fine I’ll try to drink some water!” You relented

“Thank you darling-”

“Maybe I’ll drink some water if it has some fruit syrup.”

Dear archons give this man strength

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Please please please please please I actually beg, I need a fluff where Sukuna is cuddling with you, his head on your chest while he tells you about… I don’t know, how this is because he doesn’t love you and you’re only good for being a pillow, knowing that is not the case. (Also HIII I ABSOLUTELY LOVE YOUR CONTENT!!! Thank you very much for reading this and I hope you have a lovely day, whether you choose to respond or not :D 💞💞💞💞💞💞)

I DROPPED EVERYTHING TO WRITE THIS ITS TOO FUCKIN CUTE AH-

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Starring: A battle weary Sukuna

You were never really sure what to do with your nights when Ryomen was away. Normally, you would spend the twilight hours in his room, in his arms, and in his sheets, curled into his side afterwards and falling asleep to the sounds of his heartbeat slowing down. But, that was out of the question tonight, just as it had been for the last week. He was off conquering something somewhere- you honestly didn’t really care. You just wanted your man- your lord back. Luckily, he was due back tomorrow evening. 

Without having many other options, you found yourself curled up on your bed with a book from the palace library. Not a bad way to spend an evening per say, just a lonely one. Ryomen was never a huge fan of cuddling unless it was after he was inside of you- and even then he was more on the take it or leave it side of things. But, his presence was still always appreciated, and on cold nights like these you desperately wanted him home to warm your bed.

You wondered what the fuck was in your tea when you saw him standing in your door way, convinced you were hallucinating. “My lord?” You asked, taking in his battle weary from. “You’re home?”

“Clearly.” He grumbled, death shambling over to your bed and collapsing on it. Admittedly, you were a little put off by it- the metallic smell of blood still clinging to his skin, as if he left the battlefield and went straight to your arms. You didn’t have a lot of time to realize how true that statement was before his arms were wrapped around you, pulling you as close to him as he possibly could and resting his head at the crown of your breast. It almost scared you just how needy he was being. 

“You’re home early…” You pointed out, only for him to roll all four of his eyes at you.

“Refer to my previous statement.”

“I’m asking why my lord.” His jaw ticked at your words. He’d killed nobles for less,what made you think you could take that tone with him? He should cut your disrespectful tongue out for even considering to question him. 

“We were able to slaughter their forces faster than we expected. None of them were higher than grade two.” He explained, closing his eyes to try and relax.

“Oh, that’s great! Another successful battle.” You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. You swore you heard him purr.

“Yeah.” No. No it absolutely was not. Yeah, none of those foot soldiers were higher than a grade two, but that didn’t matter when there was so fucking many of them. A hoard of roaches could kill a snake given the right numbers, and Sukunas entire force was out numbered, for every one soldier he had that asshole had over a hundred grunts. 

It got bleak. Bleak to the point where Sukuna had to really consider the fact he might not be going home. That he might die at the hands of fucking novices of all things. That he might not ever be able to hold you again, to kiss you, to see you. And he didn’t even say a proper goodbye before leaving. For the first time in Ryomen Sukuna’s existence, he was terrified. It wasn’t the first time he had been at deaths door, he was actually a frequent visitor. But this was the first time he made the trip when he had something to live for.

So he pushed through. Unleashed a fourth domain expansion even after the second one took everything he had left out of him, fought harder than he had before, and even felt a black flash. At some point, the enemies stopped flooding in, and it was just him and was was left of his army in the war zone. Yeah, he won, but he would never consider that a successful battle. 

You didn’t need to know that though. All you needed to know was he was home. He watched you read your book, content for what felt like the first time ever as you played absentmindedly with his hair. Moments like these were the ones he dreaded losing the most. Soft moments, where he could actually let his guard down and be at peace, even if it was only for a few seconds. He sighed softly, closing his eyes and snuggling closer to you.

“I missed you too, my lord.” You smiled gently at him. His eyes snapped open. You just had to speak, didn’t you?

“I didn’t miss you.” He scoffed in disgust, but still couldn’t find it in him to move, “Know your place whore.” The “whore” was so half-hearted it was laughable. Normally he was able to put some venom in it, but he was feeling particularly de-fanged right now. 

“Oh of course. That’s why you're clinging to me like this, because you absolutely did not miss me, right? You don’t love me at all.” You teased him.

“I do not.” He snapped, lifting his head up to properly look you in your eyes so you knew you were on thin fucking ice. “You think this is because I love you? Do you think the sky is red too? You’re comfortable wench, that’s all this is. You’re no more valuable to me than a pillow, or a chair. Love is an entirely human emotion, don’t project it onto me.” He lashed out, before dropping his head back on your chest with a limp thud. “You’ll to well to watch your tongue slut, before I cut it out.” He grumbled, managing to find some venom there this time. 

“I’m sorry my lord.” You sighed, returning to your book. A soft, self satisfied smirk did find its way to your lips when you felt him put your hand back in his hair, prompting you to continue playing there. 

“Mmm.” He grumbled. Truth be told, Love was a human emotion. Most curses would never feel anything even adjacent to it in their lifetime. But no matter how much he tried to deny it, Sukuna was human once. Mortal blood once flowed though his veins, and a human heart still pounded in his chest. A human heart you held in soft hands, gently protecting without even knowing. You’d never know how hard he fought just to be by your side tonight, not if he could help it.

You turned off the bedside lamp, settling into bed with him. He gently kissed your forehead, a soft action that was forced to go unnoticed, least he have to make good on any of his threats. Or worse, admit he was a fool in love. 

[chronicdisasterwrites]

i’d keep you company in the dark

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre + warnings: - ANGST but FLUFFY ending!! jjk movie spoilers!! happens after the ending of jjk-0, death, sad gojo, kisses.

word count: 1,672

authors note: this was a request by my lovely @daisy-the-quake <3 it's a song-fic, inspired by the song "peaches” by grandson x k.flay

enjoy <3

Your eyes shoot open as you lie still and unmoving. The blinking red light of the clock on your bedside table indicates midnight. Yet another nightmare, about the same thing. It starts with you standing face-to-face with Suguru. His face twisted with the sneer he had on when he came to the school to announce his plan; "The Night Parade of a Hundred Demons". You try to move but you can’t. You try to talk to him, try to convince him to listen to reason, but nothing comes out. He laughs, then it shifts and his laughing transitions into an irksome drone coming out of his ajar mouth. It turns into an incessant buzzing growing exponentially until it’s so loud you can’t see, think, or feel anything. And then the noise stops completely and you’re standing in the sky looking down at Satoru standing in an arena, alone, with a horde of shadows surrounding him. They all make their way toward him like ants capturing a crystal of sugar. You don't do anything. You don’t move or scream or fight. You feel like you don't even exist. Just when the shadows are about to swallow him whole does he look up at you, with hollow eyes and no will to survive.

The hammering of raindrops against your windows could’ve also been a factor, but the sweat on your face and the drumming of your heart indicate otherwise. Taking a few deep breaths you try to normalize your heartbeat. It was exhausting, having the same nightmare over and over again. Ever since Suguru died, all your dreams seemed to be about the same thing. Then you imagine, how Satoru must be feeling. You fall back into reality and realize Satoru’s side of the bed was abandoned. It had been a few days since Suguru died, and since then Satoru had been acting strangely. You never asked him straight up if he was okay, because you know he wasn’t. Of course, he wasn’t. So you tried to show him you were there if he wanted to talk, but he always laughed it off and changed the subject without showing a moment’s weakness. He was acting like nothing happened and life was just fine and dandy. The dream you had fills your mind with thoughts of Satoru losing his mind to the grief of losing his best friend and trudging down a path from which he could never return. You couldn't help him in your dream. Instead, you just stood there watching him get consumed by his demons. You bolt out of bed to look for him. He wasn’t in the apartment you both shared, so you made a guess and decided to trust your gut. You take your keys, wear a raincoat, take an umbrella, shove your phone in your pocket, and make your way to Jujutsu Tech.

Parking your motorcycle in front of the steps of the school you see him sitting on the steps, head downturned and raindrops ricocheting off his Infinity. Once you start climbing the steps, does he lift his head to give you a small smile, tired and sullen, not at all like his genuine smile. 

You sigh and sit next to him, shoulders touching and legs brushing. Your face was half-covered by the hood of the raincoat but some raindrops still fell on your nose and exposed hands. Hearing the familiar buzz of Satoru’s Infinity, you look up and watch the raindrops slide down around you, making you feel like you were encased in a snow globe. The pattering of raindrops sounded muted and you felt safe and protected from the terrors of the world. So, this is how Satoru feels? 

“What brings you here?”

You remove your hood and look into his dull eyes. Shrugging, you reply with a tender voice, “I couldn’t find you so I figured you’d be here.” 

Satoru huffs, looking away and linking his hands together over his knees, “I’m fine before you ask.”

Gojo Satoru was a complex human being. Sometimes people tend to forget he is a human being, thanks to his charisma, strength, and holier-than-thou attitude. But that’s all he was; a human being, blessed burdened with the strength of a God. The ever-present smile on his dazzling face makes you forget that he’s not a shiny person. But when his eyes dim and his smile falls in the dark of the night when a million eyes aren’t on him you realize just how bruised and battered he is. 

You release a tired breath. He thinks he’s all alone in this world. He thinks no one can ever help him with anything because no one is as strong as him. The world always revolved around him, his strength, his power, his name. No one could ever equal him, so he believes it’s only fair for him to carry his burdens and sorrows on his own.

“Y’know Satoru…” He glances at you and quirks a thin, silver eyebrow. You stare ahead, picking at the skin around your nails. 

“You’re not alone. As much as you want to believe you are, you aren’t. So, if you aren’t gonna let me in, that’s fine. Just- please let yourself feel without putting on a front.”

You hear him exhale and watch him hang his head down from your peripheral vision. 

“What’s the point?” He mutters under his breath. The only reason you could hear him at all was because his Infinity dulled the noise in the outside world. 

This time you stare at his downturned head and you can’t stop yourself from speaking, “What’s the point? The point is that you don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to hurt alone. I want you to share your pain with me! Yeah sure, you can get through this alone. You can shove it under the rug, but just this once, don’t be the strongest. Just let me hurt with you, let’s get through this together. Please, Satoru.”

He lifts his head and stares you straight in your eyes. You know how much he’s hurting. His world turned upside down and everything changed. He had to watch his friend plummet into the darkness and he had to be the one to deliver the final blow. His heart is shattered and you’re scared there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it. The only thing you can do is be by his side and try to pick up his broken pieces.   

He exhales a shaky breath as his eyes glisten like a dewdrop on a blade of grass, “Can we get through this?” 

You reach out your hand and move a couple of strands of his hair from his vision. You let your hand lie against his warm cheek and he lets his eyes shut, “I know everything went to shit. But it’s not permanent, Satoru. I don’t know if things will get better, but we can only hope, right?”

He takes your hand in his own and runs his thumb over your knuckles.

“Yeah. We can only hope.”

He sighs and stares at your hand, “I miss him.”

“I know…”

You squeeze his hand and he squeezes back. It’s dark, except for a few streetlights. You think he’d enjoy a piece of cake or something sweet right about now. You open your mouth to ask him when he beats you to it, “Things won’t be the same.”

Your mouth hangs open and you wait as he continues speaking, “It might get better, it might get worse. Honestly? It doesn’t matter. We can’t really afford to be optimistic with a life like ours.” He lets out a humorless laugh. Looking at you, he gives you a gentle smile and leans forward to kiss your forehead. He lingers there for a quiet moment as the rain serenades you both.

“We’ll get through this.” 

You love him so much. Looking at his beautiful, weary face, you smile and leave a chaste kiss on his lips. Stealing another kiss, he brushes a few strands of hair away from your face, “I love you, y’know that?” 

Smiling, you stand and give him your hand, “Yeah, I love you too.”

He holds your hand and stops you on your way down the stairs, “Hey…I'm sorry for being selfish. I know you’re hurting too. I don’t want you to think I don't notice that.”

Turning back to look at him, you caress his knuckles with your thumb, “It's okay, Satoru-”

“No, it's not.” He stands on the upper step, looking down at you with tender eyes, "D'you have another nightmare? Is that why you woke up?" He traces the dark circles under your eyes and keeps his thumb on the apple of your cheek.

You sigh and close your eyes momentarily, "Yeah..."

"You wanna talk about it?"

Your free fingers wrap around his slender wrist as you look up at his glittering, blue eyes. "Maybe later." He nods.

You both walk down the steps, your hand warm in his. By now the rain had slowed down to a soft patter. He notices the umbrella tied on the backseat of your motorcycle and quirks an eyebrow, “Why’d you bring this?”

You offer a sheepish smile and take out your keys from your pocket, “I- uh, figured you might need it. I thought you’d deactivate your Infinity and sit in the rain or something… So y’know I didn’t want you to waste all your energy covering us both from the rain but I guess that’s exactly what you did so it was pretty usele-”

Your rambling was immediately shut down by the press of his lips against yours. You feel him smile into the kiss and your heart feels so warm. I love him so much. Hugging you, he rests his chin on your head, “Thank you.” 

You think it’s ironic how you’re shivering from the cold yet feeling so incredibly warm at the same time. He chuckles and unties the umbrella taking a seat on the backseat of your bike, “Let’s go home, yeah?”  

a/n: well, after chapter 236 this sure is a knife to the heart.

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